The Good Sons
by 90TheGeneral09
Summary: Sequel to "The Evil Angel". Henry and Mark have been living together at Henry's parent's home in Maine for several years, and are now attending the Joshua L. Chamberlain High School in Rockbridge, Maine. They're the Evans brothers, the boys next door- but they're not everything they seem.
1. Chapter 1- The First Friday

**Chapter I- The First Friday**

* * *

It was the 8th of September, 1998, the first Friday of the 1998-1999 school year at Joshua L. Chamberlain High School. Located in Rockbridge, Maine, an affluent coastal suburb just north of Portland itself, Chamberlain High was famous in Portland and to a lesser extent the State of Maine for a handful of notable reasons. Firstly, it was well-funded and for the most part efficiently run, a little too good for a JROTC program but plenty good enough for everything else. For many years, this prestigious high school named after Maine's Civil War hero and Medal of Honor recipient had been known for its excellent coaches and the superb athletic programs they supervised, as well as some of the highest acceptance rates to prestigious state and private colleges anywhere in Maine.

In recent years, though, Chamberlain High had been seeing some of its best days yet. Chamberlain students had always been reputed to have duel prowess on the court and in the classroom, one of the few American high schools to truly balance the existence of being a proper "student-athlete". This didn't stop many of those athletes from being extremely full of themselves, but in the last couple of years they'd had a right to be. How did they not, after those two brothers showed up in the fall of '95 and by the end of the school year had taken the varsity hockey team to their first state win in twenty years?

Two freshmen did what two decades' worth of juniors and seniors, not to mention the upperclassmen, had been unable to do. And the wins hadn't stopped there- on the contrary, that had just been the beginning. Those two boys had only expanded on that first win, scoring more than a few touchdowns for the football team while also taking home a state championship trophy every year since 1995. They were legends in the halls, virtual gods in the practice fields and classrooms. Underclassmen worshipped them, and plenty of upperclassmen did that too. Both guys and girls did this, though for drastically different reasons. The guys wanted to be like them- good looking, rich, legendary athletes, and near-mythical successes with the girls of the local teenage populace.

That related most closely to why Stephanie Burkhalter was still outside on a cool Friday morning, resolutely pretending she had nothing better to do than hang around out near her high school's front doors perhaps ten minutes before the start of class. It wasn't truly cold out, not yet, but plenty cool enough for a good, strong breeze to make you shiver. Stephanie just leaned against the three-foot wall that lined the front yard of the school, trying to occasionally participate in the chatter going back and forth between some of her friends and not give away how anxiously she was watching the senior parking lot.

Stephanie was a sophomore at Chamberlain High this fall, a pretty girl with shiny black hair flowing down to her shoulders. She wasn't the most popular girl at Chamberlain, or was she the richest, prettiest or smartest- but she wasn't on the bottom, either. Stephanie was a decent-sized fish in a pool that had 1,999 other fish in it, male and female. She knew there was little chance the two she was pretending not to be waiting for this morning would talk to her today. She'd be lucky if one even looked at her. But maybe… maybe they would. Every day was different, even though they were all the same- today could be the day she got noticed.

It was a fleeting hope, really. Everyone who was anyone understood they only dated upperclassmen, and even then really only noticed girls in the senior class. Sophomore girls of any level of social standing were so off the radar it was unreal. Come to think of it, Stephanie remembered hearing that even when Henry and Mark were sophomores they didn't date sophomores- they had gone straight for junior and senior girls, even as underclassmen dating some of the best-looking and most popular girls in the school. Stephanie had no chance at all, and that wasn't pessimism- it was simple fact.

And yet… Stephanie still wanted to hope. She'd washed up very nicely in the shower this morning, worn her best jeans and t-shirt with her most fashionable jacket, and conditioned her hair extra carefully in the hope that it would pass a two-second visual inspection by the two hottest boys in the school. Some might have called Stephanie's actions unrealistic, unreasonable- and certainly not really necessary. But anyone who would say that had obviously not noticed who else was here.

Even this late in the morning a decent-sized crowd of teenagers was gathered around the front of the building, guys and girls- not all of them were here to await the arrival of the two social hot-shots, but they all would take notice once they were here. Even if all you did was cast an admiring- or envious- glance their way, these two were just too much to ignore.

Across the front walk that lead up to the front doors, Stephanie could see Lisa Doyle and a couple of her friends passing by. Lisa Doyle was tall, blonde and extremely attractive, one of the most sought-after girls at Chamberlain. She was also one of the meanest, and the very worst of her brutal sarcastic streak had for three years been reserved for whoever was currently Henry Evans' current girlfriend. Lisa had been hoping to get asked out by him for years.

"Well, look, Susan," Lisa was saying to a friend beside her who'd been expressing doubts of some kind, "I'm telling you, I heard it from Lauren and she would never make this shit up. Henry's single now. Actually, they're _both_ single. We've been back for a week and you know those two are never single for long."

"Yeah, well, so what?" Susan Davidson said, wondering where her friend's supreme confidence was coming from this particular morning. Lisa was always supremely confident, save for the days when she had apparently crowned herself queen bitch of the universe.

"_Yeah, well, so what_?" Lisa mocked, then turned back to her own monologue. "I'm the one he'll notice this semester, just you wait. He'll be asking me out for sure this time." She smiled at the thought. "By next week he'll be begging me for a date."

"I just wanna know who Mark's gonna ask out," Brittany Jorgensen said, walking on Lisa's right. Those three were together all the damn time. Given that they talked constantly and sometimes seemed to pick up on each other's monologues and turn them into three one-way conversations, it could be very confusing if you did try to go up and ask one of them out. Even if you found one temporarily alone, whether she said yes or no the other two would inevitably hear about it.

"Maybe it'll be you, Brittany," Lisa said, shrugging. She really didn't know or care either way- her sights were all on Henry. She'd been trying to get him to notice her for three years. He was worth the wait, though. That no one doubted.

Stephanie and her friends watched the three senior girls pass by in silence; she wanted very much to ask Lisa what her chances were, but knew that there were much better ways than that of committing social suicide around Chamberlain High. Like actually committing suicide, for instance. Lisa Doyle was not somebody to piss off, and if she got the idea that Stephanie wanted to take Henry's attention from her… the result, whatever it was, would not be good. Stephanie shivered a bit, and not just because of the cool September air. Suddenly, she glanced off to her right, and down the gradual, gently sloping hill that Chamberlain was built on she spotted something that made Stephanie catch her breath.

A black Hummer had just entered the senior parking lot.

She could see the truck easily, a huge, dark monstrosity of an SUV towering over everything else in the lot. Its huge diesel V8 growling with contempt for the lesser machines around it, the Hummer wagon drove up past rows of already-parked cars and SUVs and then turned right, heading for the front row, the one closest to the main drive of the school where buses headed left to the bus ramp and parents of freshman and sophomores came straight and curved left to pick up their kids or drop them off. Two spaces in the corner of that front row were left open; they always were. There was really no question about it. Henry and Mark Evans were the big-shots at Chamberlain High. What they wanted, they were given, and naturally that included premier parking spaces in the senior parking lot.

The huge black Hummer steered left into one of the open spaces, leaving the corner spot on its right open for another vehicle that Stephanie could see entering the senior lot at that very moment. It halted, the growl of the diesel continuing as the massive truck idled. The Hummer was in many ways a perfect match for the star football and hockey player who drove it- Henry Evans' body rippled with power in an almost casual way, so lazy yet immensely confident in the simplest of movements that one couldn't help but be awed. And just like the giant, hulking four-wheel drive he took to school in the morning, Henry stood head-and-shoulders above everyone else around him, physically- he was quite tall to say the least- and otherwise.

A Jeep Grand Cherokee- the new 1999 model, bigger and rounder, more aerodynamic than the first generation- accelerated into the parking lot, making use of its powerful gasoline V8, supercharged not long after its purchase by the owner's brother. The Jeep was painted a dark metallic red, something that vaguely reminded Stephanie of roses… or the colour of blood. Swift, strong and practically radiating power and good looks, the Jeep was a perfect fit for Mark Evans. The power of the V8 engine corresponded perfectly with the strength of Mark's muscles, while the Jeep's handsome, aerodynamic profile corresponded well with the way Mark was on the football field- or in the hockey rink.

The Hummer that Henry drove was the same- in that it was a perfect match for its owner- but at the same time was different. The Grand Cherokee Mark Evans drove had an agile, sporty appearance that belied its true power- just as Mark's incredible, movie-star good looks belied how he could bench-press over 300 pounds and probably used truck axles as weights at home. The Hummer, on the other hand, projected power and demanded respect- it was a truck that stood so high it towered over even other sport utility vehicles and four wheel drives. It carried with it an air of incredible arrogance- of something so unchallenged it had no time to even notice lesser vehicles on the road.

It projected a sense of contempt for many things- anyone or anything lesser than it or its owner (which was almost everyone), any regard for ecologically-sound practices, and overall for anyone and anything that was weak. Henry Evans was a blonde modern-day Hercules, and Mark could have modeled for a remaking of the Colossus of Rhodes. They were awesome figures to behold, rich, handsome and gifted with almost incredible physical and mental power. It seemed like there was nothing they could not do, and do better than everyone around them. The trucks they drove, impressive as they were, paled in comparison to the might of their owners.

The dark red Jeep drove past the black Hummer wagon and curved left, pulling into the last open space on the front row. There were eight of them in that front row, the smallest in the whole lot. Anthony Summers had his gold '97 Expedition, Jason Morgan had his '98 Mustang GT, and of course John LaFleur- Henry and Mark's longest-standing friend at school, from as far back as the summer before eighth grade- had his hot red Chevrolet Camaro SS, a classic from 1969. Those were the machines of the most popular boys in school; Stephanie was hardly the only girl who knew their names and cars in painstaking detail. But as hot as they were- all of them- Stephanie was waiting for a glimpse- just a glimpse would be enough- of the two who topped them all.

Henry got out of his truck first, shutting off the engine and swinging open one of the massive, square-edged doors. Originally designed for military use as the HMMWV or Humvee, the Hummer was a civilian version so close to the original it was basically a Humvee with air conditioning and a nice interior. As tall and imposing as the truck was, though, Henry made it less so on both fronts. He stepped down from the truck and stood at well over six feet tall; his wavy blonde hair flashed in the sun and Stephanie's heart fluttered. Then she caught sight of him as he reached back inside to take out his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder and coming around the front of the truck.

Henry was wearing jeans and a black shirt with bold white letters reading KISS- the band, though Henry probably wore that shirt knowing that word was just what so many girls at Chamberlain hoped for from him- and his strong, teenage body-builder's muscles rippled like water under the black fabric. Inside his jeans were powerful athlete's legs, startlingly comparable in size to those strong, bulging biceps on his arms. Stephanie tried to visualize being held in those arms and it made her heart skip a beat. It was… breathtaking to imagine. Henry had a smooth, slightly pale face with naturally-handsome looks- his blue eyes, warm and charming, combined with his smile- and oh, that body- to make him the most eligible bachelor in Chamberlain right now. The word was out that he _and_ his brother were single. So… _one_ of the most eligible bachelors at school. But the only one who competed for that title was Mark Evans, and as it happened he was getting out of the dark red Grand Cherokee right now.

Contrary to his brother, Mark wore a dark blue muscle shirt- hardly any looser than Henry's, though, as both boys liked their t-shirts tight- and had curly, auburn-brown locks. His eyes were a sharper, crisper blue than Henry's, and pierced everyone they set on with their gaze- guys sat up and took notice, and girls hoped their hearts were all right. When Mark Evans looked at you, it was like he was looking into your soul.

Stephanie hoped he'd like to look at her soul sometime. Would there be enough warm weather left in the year for Stephanie to be seen by one of the Evans brothers at a local club pool- sunbathing, perhaps, in her best bikini?

The brothers exchanged smiles that were almost smirks, talking as they closed the doors on their trucks- nobody knew if they even bothered to lock them, as anyone who was even seen trying to find out was likely to die a horrible death soon afterwards. Backpacks over their shoulders, they turned and walked side by side towards the school.

More than a few studied the approach of the Evans brothers with interest; Stephanie felt like she was watching a documentary about modern-day Greek gods. The strong, bulging chest muscles and biceps, the eight-pack abs and athlete's legs of iron- Henry and Mark Evans looked like they could have worked as professional athletes, fashion models and porn stars all on looks alone. Stephanie tried to visualize what they looked like with their shirts off- she hadn't been that lucky yet- and it gave her such a thrill she almost shivered.

They walked across the front drive of the school and onto the sidewalk, heading along it and towards the front doors. No cars were coming this close to the start of school, and Mark and Henry would have ignored them anyway- Stephanie had a feeling that if a car tried to hit the auburn and blond-haired brothers they might not have noticed, and a street sweeper would be needed to retrieve what was left of the car. Looking at the star athletes, one wondered if they had any body fat at all- not much, that was for sure. Gazing over at them and shivering in a way that had nothing to do with the breeze, Stephanie remembered Roman paintings of seemingly-impossible figures of men, so strong and fit they looked like they could only exist in paintings. It seemed like Chamberlain High had these two teenage Apollo's to show as exceptions. Such physical perfection might have been beyond reach for most to achieve- but it had been done by Mark and Henry Evans.

Striding up the sidewalk at a leisurely, almost lazy pace, the Evans brothers talked easily with one another, perhaps discussing some upcoming game or practice, or what they'd be doing after school today. You could never tell for sure with Mark and Henry- but you could be sure they were doing something, any given time of any given day. So much of what went on in the social lives of Chamberlain High students was somehow connected to Mark and Henry Evans, they were almost the twin suns around which everyone else revolved. It was a comparison Stephanie found surprisingly fitting; they certainly had a certain… glow to them.

"Isn't he cute?" Cindy Stevens sighed, looking over at one of the two boys as they approached.

"Cute?" Stephanie said incredulously. "Look! They're hot! Scott Shepherd is cute."

"She's right," Nicole Baker said rather matter-of-factly.

"Hey!" Cindy said indignantly, "I wasn't disagreeing-"

"Shh!" Stephanie said hurriedly; she hadn't noticed how close the Evans brothers were getting. Watching the casual, unconcerned pace they took going almost anywhere off the playing field, you tended to assume Henry and Mark moved slowly. But like a freight train, every inch of it packed with awesome, incredible power, the Evans brothers' seemingly-slow pace was hypnotizing, merely another one of the ways they fooled people who dared underestimate them. They were ten or fifteen feet away now, turning to head up the walk into the school and almost certainly within earshot.

Stephanie turned back and immediately blushed when she saw Mark Evans looking her way, having noticed the sound as she tried to hush her friends. _Oh, damn it_, Stephanie thought in embarrassment, but then Mark Evans smiled. He didn't say anything- just smiled and kept going, turning his attention back to Henry as they accepted a few other greetings, said what's up to some teammates and headed into the school- but Stephanie felt her insides turn to water the instant she felt Mark Evans' gaze on her and knew she'd been the object of that smile. It lasted just a second or two- just a fleeting second- but Stephanie knew she'd treasure that moment for the rest of her life, even if she never so much as saw the Evans brothers again.

Looking around her, Stephanie felt briefly jealous at that moment that morning, acutely aware she was not the only one casting admiring glances the Evans brothers' way. But then she remembered who she was looking at. They were the most handsome, most incredibly strong boys in the school. _Everybody_ admired them. With the girls it was something of a constant rule. No matter who you were dating, no matter how good-looking he was- or what else he was good at- you'd always end up looking at him and thinking, "He's not Henry/Mark Evans". Any girl at Chamberlain High who had dated Henry or Mark regarded that as the high point of their teenage lives, the greatest thing they'd ever experienced. They were kind, generous, so handsome it was almost a crime- and from what Stephanie and her friends had whispered to each other in freshman-year sleepovers, the Evans brothers were amazing in bed. Just flat-out _amazing_.

And they had class- word was they wouldn't so much as make out with you in the car. They would always insist on going inside somewhere, your house, theirs- but inside, someplace nice. Stephanie thought that in a way, she appreciated that most of all. Too many boys seemed to want to start groping and pawing the minute you were parked somewhere in the dark on a deserted road. The Evans brothers, in their romantic lives- like everywhere else- demanded nothing short of the best. And they treated their girlfriends with nothing less than the best in turn. The high standards the two young colossuses had could be quite a challenge, though; they went through two or three girlfriends a year and were known to be incredibly hard to please. Too many girls had endured such heartbreak after the end of their time with one of the Evans brothers- not blaming the boy, who they adored even after the breakup in many cases, but blaming themselves. Wondering how they hadn't been good enough- what they could have done better.

For the rest of that day at school, even that week, she was the source of much talk and speculation among her friends- did he like her? What did that smile mean? Was Mark Evans going to break from his usual rule of only dating girls in his class or one year below and ask out a sophomore? Stephanie was awed by the way that that one moment's worth of attention brought her brief celebrity status among her friends. It spoke volumes about how esteemed Mark and Henry were at their high school- and as far as Stephanie was concerned, with those sculpted, flawless bodies and those brilliant, flashing smiles, the both of them had most certainly earned it. For the rest of the day she was in a daze, the words going through her head over and over.

_He looked at me. He _smiled_ at me_.

Henry Evans, for his part, barely noticed the moments' worth of attention his brother was giving to that stupid little sophomore girl. She was fairly pretty, sure- nice legs, curved waist and not bad about the face or chest either- but Henry wasn't especially interested. A girl like that was just not his thing. She was too… ordinary. A moderately pretty girl was hardly even up to Henry's standard for even a weekend fuck with a girl at a party hosted by guys at another school. At best, that brown-haired girl was a 6, and Henry only did sevens and up. These days he hardly even noticed anyone who wasn't an 8.

"Dude," Henry asked, "did you seriously just _smile_ at her?"

Mark shrugged. "She's kinda cute. She was checking me out, dude."

"So?" Henry said, his tone saying just what he thought of that. "Who the fuck _cares_? _I_ wouldn't even let her lick my-"

"Hey! Mark, Henry!" Anthony Summers called, bounding out the front doors of the school and slapping palms with the two of them. "What's up, guys?"

"You tell me, man," Henry said lazily as they passed through the front door- not even asking if Anthony was gonna hold it open, which of course he did. "I just hate being the one to tell everybody what's up all the time. It's just a fuckin' burden."

Anthony chuckled, laughing like that was the funniest thing in the world as the three passed into the school cafeteria, heading around the sea of tables and towards the serving line at the kitchens, over at the far end of the room. "Hey, hey- you wanna hear about my weekend?"

"Yeah," Mark said, "Why not, man?"

Anthony shifted his own backpack on his shoulders and batted briefly at his jet-black, short-cut hair. He was always doing that, rubbing some kind of gel into it every morning and then batting at it every time he felt a piece of dust or lint was daring to offend him by messing up his carefully-done, Italian-American playboy appearance. It was a look he spent a lot of time to perfect; the only thing he liked more was talking about the results. And of course there were results- Anthony was almost as good-looking as Henry and Mark- almost, worked out regularly, and was a real charmer with people. He was constantly wearing a little smile, like he had a cute, harmless joke and maybe he'd tell you what it was.

"Well," Anthony smirked, "I think I had a pretty good weekend. Hung out with Rachel again."

"That so?" Mark asked.

Anthony nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, yeah," he said, grinning. "It was awesome. See, Rachel was totally licking my nuts, right? And I mean, I thought that was good, but she actually fuckin' reached up and started jerkin' me at the same time!" He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment and savoring the memory. "I thought I was gonna blow her head off, dude. Like a friggin' cannon."

Mark smirked. "I showed her that last summer," and Anthony blushed. "That was last year, dude," he said, a little irritated. "I'm goin' out with her now."

"Yeah," Mark said, "and I loosened her up for you some. Taught her that thing you like. Say thank you."

"Thanks, I guess," Anthony said, scowling. He didn't like to admit it, but it was true. Not only had Mark been dating Rachel Gray before him- and everybody knew Mark and Henry always went all the way with any girl they dated- but Mark's casual, smirking remark told him he had indeed found the person who'd taught Rachel that little technique that this past weekend had made Anthony think he was gonna go crazy. She hadn't let him finish until she wanted to- Anthony had never seen a girl pace things that well- and then when she had, Anthony had come so strongly he'd left quite a mess on the back of the driver's seat of his Expedition. Worth it, but he'd been out in the driveway on Sunday cleaning up the mess he'd made on Saturday. It was better than explaining it to the guys at the car wash, that was for sure.

Something else Anthony didn't much care to admit was that Mark was right about something else he'd suggested. The only guys who swapped girlfriends as much as him were Jason, John, and the Evans brothers, and as one of the school's top athletes and popular boys, Anthony had made a name for himself picking up the girls where Henry and Mark left off. This made him look like a scavenger sometimes, though, and Henry and Mark- while including him among their closest friends- didn't mind reminding him that almost every fun weekend he had was with a girl Mark or Henry had already dated. And had fun with. Anthony didn't say anything about this- he knew how quick these two could get mad if you tried to argue or object, especially about girls- but he had a hard time understanding why they seemed to enjoy making him feel embarrassed once in a while. When Anthony would brag about how tight a girl had felt, Henry would smugly remark she'd barely fit him in at all, or Mark would do like he did this morning- casually claim he'd taught Anthony's girlfriend that 'thing' he liked so much. They seemed to enjoy Anthony's chagrin and embarrassment, and he had difficulty understanding why.

"You wanna work out after school today?" Henry asked, changing the subject. Much as he enjoyed watching Anthony squirm a little- especially when he knew his brother wasn't making up what he'd said about Rachel- he felt Anthony wasn't really the one they should be bothering. After all, there was a whole school worth of losers to make fun of instead. At least Anthony was a playboy who lived up to the name, a prep-jock hybrid who could navigate the worlds of both with ease. He wasn't a loser, and he could bench a fair bit of iron in the gym- though not as much as Mark or Henry. Anthony wasn't a loser, though. Henry didn't care of his brother put Tony Summers down once in a while, but there were much better and more tempting targets. That was what the dorks and losers were for.

"Yeah, man!" Anthony said, his face brightening immediately. "Sure! You wanna hit the gym at four or four thirty?"

"Four-thirty," Henry said.

"Okay," the dark-haired playboy nodded, grinning. "Great!" It seemed like Anthony was always smiling. Fucking always. Well, as long as he was getting laid regularly at least. Anthony seemed to have an internal clock on that; if it had been more than two weeks since he'd screwed some cheerleader silly or let her do the work for a change, something was wrong, and the Italian-American teen got snappy and short-tempered until the situation was rectified. Given how good-looking he was and what a smooth talker he could be, though, it wasn't a problem Anthony had to deal with often. Truth be told, Mark and Henry both liked him- as well as they liked anyone else around here, anyway. They liked Anthony's loyalty to them, how he had lofty standards for most everything and was in excellent shape physically, but never challenged who was number one.

A wise boy, Anthony Summers was quite happy with being number two. Mark and Henry also appreciated- even liked- Anthony's cheery playboy style, and his seemingly-insatiable sex drive. Mark, for his part, tended to get annoyed if he hadn't had some kind of sexual activity with his latest girlfriend in much more than a week, and Henry wasn't much different. The auburn-haired teen could scarcely believe how he'd started on all this, when he was thirteen and just beginning to see the effects and changes puberty made. Back then, still learning how things really worked from Henry, Mark had been quite excited just to jerk off in his room at night- thrilled at the discovery that he was a teenager for real. He hadn't done that in years. Good-looking girls took care of that sort of thing now.

"Hey," Anthony said, "I gotta head to class. See you at lunch, guys!"

"Sure," Mark nodded. Anthony was a strong boy, definitely in with the "cool" crowd- and one of the only guys Mark could actually stand. A lot of the others tended to get on his nerves at times- in fact, just about everybody did. People were just so fucking stupid. They weren't as strong as Mark, as handsome, or as rich- and there were days when Mark wanted to just take the hallways by storm, pummeling everyone and everything he saw for their appalling inferiority.

Mark turned to look at the only exception, but he was over at a corner table in the cafeteria, sitting down in front of one of the skinny would-be "cool" kids, a bronze-tanned boy with messy brown hair called Andy Goldhammer.

"Hey," Henry said, brushing at a bit of his blonde hair idly. "What's up, stud?"

"Hey, Henry," Andy said, hoping the blonde giant wouldn't be here long. He had a pretty good reputation among his classmates and hoped to be a big-shot in the senior class for next year. Henry and Mark Evans had mostly left him alone so far- mostly- but that could change at any time.

As Mark sat down at the table across from his brother- all the better to make Andy feel uncomfortable with their presence- Henry looked over at the textbook Andy had out. He had a piece of paper- a worksheet- with him, and was apparently attempting to finish it before class.

"What's that you're workin' on?" Henry said, then without answering snatched it out of Andy's hands. "Thanks!" the blonde beast remarked, casual and smug in the knowledge that Andy wasn't about to do something to stop him. After a moment, Henry looked up at Andy. "Fuck is this?" he said, amusement in his voice. "Biology homework? In the first week of school?"

"Yeah," Andy nodded, hoping he'd get it back soon.

Henry smirked. "Guess you can make up the grade, right?" Suddenly there was a tearing sound, and Andy's eyes went wide- and Mark began to laugh beside him- as Henry tore up the paper, crumpled up the pieces and threw them over his shoulder.

Andy Goldhammer glanced at Mark, who just laughed even harder upon seeing Andy's face. When he looked back at Henry, anger sparked in the Goldhammer boy's eyes.

Henry noticed this right away and met even this vague hint of resistance head-on. He shot out a hand, and a fist of iron suddenly gripped Andy's shirt, jerking him forward against the table so fast he heard a seam in his collar tear. "What?" Henry said, his contempt obvious. "Wanna do something about it? Come on. Come on!"

The other boy was trembling. He didn't want to show it- was desperate not to show it- but he was. "N-no," Andy breathed. "It's okay. Just a homework assignment."

The slight hint of resistance crushed, Henry nodded, satisfied. He let go of Andy's shirt and waved a hand dismissively. "Get outta here," he said, and Andy grabbed his Biology textbook and backpack, hurrying off to class.

Mark just chuckled as he watched the popular junior go. "Wow," the auburn-haired teen chuckled, looking at his brother and crossing his powerful arms over his anvil-hard chest. "You're so nice." Henry's gaze shifted briefly from Andy's retreating back, then back to Andy again. "Whatever," Henry said, remembering that Mark was about the only person who could even make such jokes in his presence. Then Henry looked at Andy- no, Andy Goldhammer, whose cool image seemed wholly dependent on little more than his apparently-cool last name- and just shook his head in contempt. A sneer crossed his face as Henry watched the junior go. "Fuckin' Jew."

"Hey, Mark! Henry!" Both brothers turned; that was John LaFleur, one of other strong, good-looking athletes in Henry and Mark's Class of 1999. John had known Henry and Mark about as long as anyone- he'd been the first friend Henry had made when he'd begun revamping his image late in the 7th grade. John was a tall, handsome boy with an almost pinkish tint to his skin, muscular and with a carefully-crafted mess of pale blonde hair, dyed an almost unnatural yellow early in his eighth grade year. Mark hadn't been too impressed, but John had liked it and stuck with the look ever since. Today, wearing a yellow shirt with some BANANA REPUBLIC nonsense on it, he almost made the look work. Mark liked John, putting him up there with Anthony as one of his few favourites. John had trusted Mark when he'd vouched for Henry, saying that kicking John's ass in that karate match had been a test- seeing if John had what it took. Was up to the standard for being Henry's friend. Trusting Mark had paid off well.

"What's up, John?" Henry said, Andy Goldhammer already forgotten.

"Dude," John said, "We gotta get to class, man! AP Calculus is first hour."

"Same as it always is," Mark said with a casual shrug of his broad shoulders. He looked like with one strong flex of them he could block up a doorway.

"John's right," Henry said, getting up. "Come on, let's go."

On the way to Calculus, Henry and Mark must have acknowledged greetings, compliments, how-was-your-summer and of course the get-any-pussy variety from teammates (they had) and general greetings and signs of respect and admiration a dozen times over. A couple daring, bony freshmen darted up and asked about practice for football or tryouts for hockey in the spring. Guys said what's up and how's-it-going, some hoping for eventual inclusion in their group of friends that they knew they probably weren't getting. Girls said hi in a much more sensual way; every junior and senior girl in the school seemed determined to end Mark and Henry's currently-single status by the time they got to class.

Henry, for his part, barely noticed, taking it all in with a vague, almost contemptuous smirk on his face. This was nothing less than he deserved, and it made Henry feel truly great to know that he, together with his brother, basically owned Chamberlain High. Mark lived it up a little more, having fun when he threw a bit of extra enthusiasm into a greeting to some kid he was gonna ignore the next day. It was so fun to see the hope dawn on their faces, thinking maybe this year their social standing would be moving up for real. Mark didn't even notice the kids who hadn't gained some standing worth talking about yet- those kids were barely even worth strangling and throwing in the dumpster behind the school, let alone talking to or inviting to parties. Mark reminded himself to run the freshmen and sophomore boys extra hard at football practice this coming week.

It was so funny to see one of those scrawny kids puke- especially since most of them would rather eat their own bile off the grass than report the cruel extremes they were put to during tryouts. And it wasn't as if Coach Cressner was gonna say anything- half the time he just stood there off to the side, arms folded over that goddamn clipboard of his. Like Coach Buckner of the Varsity hockey team, Cressner had little reason to complain- teams they went up against in the season almost visibly shook when they saw the name "Evans" on the opposing team's roster. Chamberlain High winning a football or hockey game was like the sky being blue these days. It just happened, plain and simple. What did Cressner have to complain about?

For a while he'd thought there was perhaps something wrong with letting a pair of sophomores basically run the Varsity football team- even if they had taken the Varsity hockey team to a state win as freshmen, something that had never happened before in school history. But when the arguments between the coach and his top two players- featured in Sports Magazine the previous year, no less- came to a head, Henry and Mark had simply gone to Principal Decauter. That mad had such good business sense and marketing skills, he should have been on Wall Street running the stock market instead of a Portland, Maine suburb running a school. When his star hockey/football players- easily the best freshman players Decauter had seen in years- came into his office one day calmly informing him of the ongoing dispute, and that they just wanted to give him the heads-up in case any press wanted to talk to him after the state championship players resigned, Decauter had quickly begun damage control. He could afford to lose a lot of things and even people as head of this school, but after the glory they'd brought the school their freshman year- and the potential they showed to do even more as they rose to become seniors- Decauter knew he couldn't lose the Evans brothers.

The two Evans boys allowed themselves to be talked down from resigning- but only after they had Decauter's solemn assurance that their worries about who would be running the Varsity football team were over. After that Coach Cressner- and Coach Buckner in short order, though he didn't mind as much, being that he was a couple years from retirement. As long as they kept bringing him trophies- which they had so far more than kept their promise to do- Coach Buckner figured Henry and Mark Evans could more or less do as they liked.

In AP Calculus, their first class of the day, Henry was only halfway paying attention to whatever Mr. Wallace- funny how his surname was Henry's father's first- was talking about and drawing on the board. Occasionally he would glance at the whiteboard, his mind immediately tracing out and following the course of whatever problem was up there. He and Mark always sat at the back of the classroom, and they sat side-by-side with John LaFleur off to their left in this class.

They did this for three reasons: so they could sit in the back and see everyone in front- neither boy liked the idea of people they didn't know or like sitting behind them in class- so they could slip in with a better chance of going unnoticed if they were late (not often, but it happened) and because the only desks they could safely use were in the back. Mark and Henry each stood six-foot-six and weighed over 300 pounds; their muscular frames had quickly begun wearing down the ordinary desks they attempted to use over the years, to the point where by junior year the school had given up and purchased custom-made desks for the Evans brothers, moved as necessary so there would always be one- or two- in whatever classes the brothers attended. It had cost thousands to do it, but it was more than worth it. An entire case of trophies in the administrative offices hallway was filled with brass trophies the brothers had brought home- the custom desks, Decauter assured anyone who asked, were more than worth it.


	2. Chapter 2- Brothers in Class

**Chapter II- Brothers in Class**

* * *

When Henry and Mark had sat down in their first class of the day, it seemed like everybody in the room turned to look; teammates to say what's up, prospective girlfriends to say hi in their own way. Henry ignored most of them as he always did, but once he sat down and class began sizing them up- checking them out- was about all he did. The blonde understood this was one of his brother's favourite subjects, but this just wasn't really his thing. Only in the more artistic classes- English, French and Ceramics- did Henry actually feel any real interest. Everywhere else he just was going through the motions, more or less- though always with an A at the end.

Mark, on the other hand, was in both Chemistry and AP Calculus for this year; the cold, absolute emphasis on facts and precision fascinated Mark. He also knew that through mathematics mankind had created artillery and nuclear weapons; through science- chemistry in particular- you had conventional explosives, gunpowder, and poison gas. The possibilities were endless… if you knew what you were doing. And Mark did. This morning, however, Mark couldn't quite seem to keep his eyes on the board. They kept drifting down to the rounded hips and shapely, slender legs of Amy Philips, the redhead cheerleader in the first row. She was pretty shy, as far as cheerleaders went; normally they were some of the most outgoing girls in the school and didn't hesitate in trying to get Mark or Henry to notice them. Amy was different. Mark knew she liked him- he could see that in the quick glances and shy smiles she gave him now and then- but she wasn't as aggressive about showing it.

"Dude," Henry said quietly, "Who you thinkin' about for this year?"

"I think you mean this semester," Mark said, smirking; he was amused at the notion that he'd even bother sticking with one girlfriend for a whole school year, and pleased at how his brother had again seemingly read his mind. They did that a lot these days. Sometimes words didn't even seem necessary.

"Well," Henry said , "How about it? Who you thinkin' of?"

As carefully as he could without Mr. Wallace- in his goddamn sweater vest, for crying out loud- noticing, Mark pointed at Amy Philips up in the front row. Her faded blue jeans hugged her bottom half closely, and she had one of those jean-jackets hung over the back of her chair. She wore a white ABERCROMBIE shirt today, and her red hair flowed beautifully over her shoulders and back. Even from the back of the classroom, with her sitting down and one of the best views of her concealed, Mark could tell Amy had a great ass. She was nice, popular if rather quiet around boys like Mark, and had a body that was definitely up to the standard. "Her," Mark said. "Amy Philips."

Henry sized her up for a moment and then nodded; by now both teens had completely forgotten what Mr. Wallace was talking about on the board or even what class they were in. The blonde abruptly considered going for Amy himself- but then Mark had already said she was in his sights. He couldn't steal a girl from his brother. So Henry leaned back in his seat a little, nodding in approval. "Good choice, Mark."

The auburn-haired teen grinned. "I have very good taste."

Lowering his voice to a conspirator's whisper, Henry looked at his brother with a sly smile on his face. "Would you let her lick your b-"

"Mr. Evans!"

Both the auburn and blonde-haired teen looked up then.

"Yes?"

"Yes?"

They did this every time Mr. Wallace or any other teacher called one of them "Mr. Evans", and for a rather straightforward, by-the-book teacher like Wallace it invariably succeeded in driving him crazy. His face was tense with disapproval, and he went on, "Mark. Henry. I know you boys probably are busy planning our win for Homecoming"- grins from both brothers at that- "but we still have work to do here, in class." Half-turning to point to the problem being illustrated on the board- a problem that was close to being finished but would pose a considerable threat to someone who wasn't paying attention- Mr. Wallace said, "Would one of you boys care to tell us what the answer is here, since you have such a good handle on Calculus you find your minds wandering elsewhere?"

Henry started to scowl, displeased that anyone would disrupt a conversation he was having with his brother. Maybe Mr. Wallace's 1993 LeSabre needed some air let out of its tires. Maybe his next pay raise needed a bit of deferment. Maybe-

The auburn-haired teen beside him gently elbowed his brother, seeing the slight, almost undetectable narrowing of Henry's eyes and the anger that it indicated was coming. Mark gave a slight, almost imperceptible shake of his head, then looked up at Mr. Wallace, who along with the class was now waiting patiently.

After a few moments of silent contemplation, Mark nodded. "It's forty-two, sir. Same as the answer to life, the universe, and everything."

That brought a laugh from Henry and John, who had read the book Mark was referring too; the rest of the class chuckled mostly because the three popular boys were- and because more than a few had picked up on the mildly bored tone Mark had used.

Mr. Wallace's face flushed a little, but he nodded in grudging respect- no other students of his could so easily provide a correct answer at the drop of a hat- and carried on with the class. He couldn't understand how such smart, promising boys were so terribly arrogant- or why Decauter and the rest of the department heads couldn't seem to see it. The whole damn school had gone crazy over those boys after that Varsity hockey win freshman year, and they knew it.

Returning to their conversation, Mark smiled a little- both at his recent success and at Henry's wiseass question. "Yes," Mark said. "I think I would."

"Thing is," Henry said, smirking again, "Does she _want_ to?"

"Dude, _everybody_ wants to."

"Except me. I don't think _I_ would."

Mark laughed a little, careful to keep his voice down. "Maybe not," he shrugged, "But you know who does where _you're_ concerned?"

The blonde put on a look of mock fascination. "_Who_, Mark? Tell me!"

"Well," Mark said, dropping his voice to a whisper, "I hear Lisa Doyle is just _dying_ for a chance."

Henry thought about that. Lisa Doyle was one of the most popular girls in the senior class, despite being quite a mean, two-faced bitch whenever she happened to feel like it. She wasn't on the cheerleading squad, and about all she did athletically was play on the girls' lacrosse team or something. It wasn't like Henry gave a shit. But she'd been crushing on Henry since freshman year, and Henry's apparent inability to notice her was almost visibly driving her to madness. She had the looks- anyone could tell you she did- and Lisa was almost as popular, and as mean, as Henry was.

Freshman girls lived in mortal terror of her scathing gaze- and already some of this year's 9th grade girls were learning not to look too long at Henry Evans while Lisa Doyle was in the same room. Henry knew about all this, and for years had just ignored her on purpose, dating other girls and giving his affections to them. It drove Lisa to frustration, and Henry enjoyed knowing that immensely. It was funny for him to think of Lisa Doyle, the blonde beauty, coughing up her lunch to keep her slender, attractive figure just where she had it… all for Henry, who didn't seem to know she was there. Oh, he'd talk to her if she said hi to him, and would sometimes smile or something similar if he could tell Lisa was flirting with him. But he never asked her out. For three long years he hadn't.

Maybe Mark was right, though. Maybe the time had come to let Lisa Doyle know he could see her at last. She'd definitely be falling over herself to keep him once she realised she had him. Henry smiled at the thought; he'd get laid in a month for sure.

"Maybe I'll let her sometime," Henry said, nodding. "If she wants to."

Mark almost broke up laughing. "Oh, yeah, dude. She wants to."

When the bell rang and they got up to head to their next class, Mark gave Amy Philips a warm smile as she stood up and turned his way; she smiled back in a way he liked a lot.

Mark turned to leave, and as he and Henry exited the classroom a certain slender blonde was waiting outside the classroom. "Hey, Henry," she said, and Henry's head turned.

"Hey, Lisa," he said, meeting her gaze and finally returning her warm, flirtatious smile. "What's up?"

"Well, that depends, Henry," she said suggestively. Mark wanted to break up laughing right there in the hallway. The way Lisa flirted with Henry was getting truly outrageous. "Going to the gym later?"

"Of course," Henry said as the three of them walked, his smile almost a smirk. He was enjoying this.

"How much can you bench-press now?" she asked.

"Plenty," the blonde boy replied. "You wanna see if I can bench-press you sometime?"

"That'd be nice," Lisa said with a smile. "I bet you could lift a lot more than I weigh, though. See you later, Henry." And with that she was gone, headed off to her own class.

Henry looked after her for a moment, watching the rolling of her shapely, attractive hips. She was good-looking enough for him, all right.

"Told you," Mark said, smirking as he stood next to his brother. "She's asking you for the chance to do it. All you gotta do is let her know when to start."

Henry smiled. "Good." That was just the way he wanted it.

At 11:30 morning classes ended, and once again accompanied by a cluster of teammates and hangers-on, Henry and Mark made their way to lunch. It was a high time of the day for them; good time to take inventory on things. Only the most privileged of guys- or girls- got to sit at the same table as Henry and Mark; anyone not a part of their cluster of friends knew better than to even try it. Anthony Summers with his gelled-up black hair and John LaFleur with his shiny, dyed-blonde were the most honoured guests at the table, able to speak to either of the brothers and regularly expect an acknowledgement.

Jason Morgan, the big quarterback on the Varsity football team with his $200, casually wild haircut was a close third, and he was very much the strong, good-looking and wealthy "winner" type that Henry and Mark Evans so constantly associated themselves with. You had to be head and shoulders above everybody else for the brothers to even notice you; if a girl you needed to be attractive, enough so that you stood out from everyone else. The guys needed to work out regularly, be on one or more sports teams, and have proven history with girls- or, if lacking on that front, you had to make up for it with athletic talent. You had to stand out- be the elite- in some way.

The Evans brothers didn't talk to mediocrities or losers. They had a real distaste for cheap, dirty cars or secondhand clothes, and for anything or anyone that wasn't the best. Boys who were poor as well as shy endured some of the harshest mockeries Henry, Mark and their teammates could give out. And the worst part of it was that they moved around, seeming to be capable of ignoring you for a whole month and then making life pure Hell for a week that more than made up for the past four. They kept you living in fear, the big, popular guys on the football and hockey teams- it was like the Chinese water torture. You never knew when the next drop would come.

Paul Hendricks, a burly hockey player with a blonde crew cut and little to say most of the time, was one of the last guys to arrive at the table for lunch. "I was talkin' to Coach Buckner," Paul said when Anthony asked where he'd been- often, when Henry or Mark couldn't be bothered to ask a question (they talked mostly with each other) Anthony or John would ask it for them. The Evans brothers were always listening. Fucking always. It was scary sometimes; they seemed to be able to hear damn near every conversation around them at the table- they sat across from each other in the middle- and would sometimes break in with a question or comment, like they'd been paying attention the whole time.

When Amy Philips, the fair redhead with those beautiful green eyes, entered the cafeteria with Lisa Doyle, Mark knew this was a chance he couldn't miss. It was Friday during the first week of school. He and Henry had been single since the start of the month, and it was the 24th now. That was almost a damn month. Time to make a move.

"Tony," Mark said, casually interrupting something the dark-haired boy had been saying to John LaFleur, "Tell Amy and Lisa they can sit with us if they want."

Anthony nodded. "Sure thing, Mark," and hopped up from the table, gracefully moving out to meet the two girls as they entered the cafeteria. Neither of the Evans brothers could hear what Anthony was saying, but he seemed to be putting the "suave gentleman" act on pretty hard. He was good at it, too, because the girls smiled, nodded, and followed him when he returned to the table. Coming back ahead of them, Anthony flashed the Evans brothers a smile, raising his eyebrows suggestively. See what I did? Anthony's eyes seemed to say, and Mark just laughed and waved him back to his seat. Anthony was so damn theatrical.

He was more showy than John, and less arrogant than Jason- which was one of the things Mark and Henry liked about the star quarterback. He was tall, handsome, extremely fit and equally arrogant- very used to getting his own way. In a sense he was just like Henry and Mark- a perfect match for them. You sometimes got a sense that had it not been for the Evans brothers, Jason would instead have been the big "jock king" of Chamberlain High. He wasn't stupid, which meant he probably knew it, too- and knew to keep that to himself. Henry and Mark were both karate black-belts, and quick to prove their muscles weren't just for show if somebody pissed them off.

Jason was smart, though; he was rich and knew plenty of college students around Portland, able to help set up parties on the fairly-regular basis Henry and Mark demanded them. He liked shoving nerds and geeks around in the halls, was a big part of making sure the Varsity football team won the overwhelming majority of their games every season- Jason was a valuable guy. The Evans brothers rewarded him accordingly by making him a part of their circle. Henry's favourite part about Jason was how while he stuck with a chosen girlfriend longer than the brothers did, Jason was very callous- a stark contrast to the adept charmer he was- and really just wanted the material things. Like Henry and Mark. But he wasn't as loyal as Anthony or John, nor as grateful to be on a legendary winning team like Paul was. And unlike Jason, Mark or Henry could make the playboy wop roll over and fetch the damn newspaper any day of the week. That was something Anthony was good for.

"Hey, guys," Amy said, a little shyly, and Lisa flashed Henry a warm smile. "Hey, Henry," she said.

"Amy! Lisa!" Mark said, making sure he looked pleased to see them- which, to be fair, he was. "Come on, guys," he said, motioning around him briefly, "Make 'em some room." Accordingly a space was cleared on either side of the table, so Lisa and Amy could sit down across from the boys who now had eyes on them. More than a few admiring glances had come their way since the two girls had come into the cafeteria, but now they were much more cautiously done; everyone knew that neither Mark nor Henry took well to seeing someone eying a girl they liked. The Evans brothers had first pick at everything.

Amy and Lisa joined a few other girls sitting at the table, mostly cheerleaders; Jason, John, Anthony and Paul were all great enthusiasts of cheerleader girlfriends. It seemed like no matter where you went, any given high school always had some of its very best-looking girls as cheerleaders. Glancing briefly around her at the senior cheerleaders- almost all of the cheerleaders in her class were here, as a matter of fact- Lisa felt a pang of regret over not joining the cheerleading squad. Those were the girls who got to wear those flashy outfits, show off their beautiful, shapely legs and flirt shamelessly with the boys on the team at every game. It was a perfect way to get the attention of some of the most popular boys at the school. Even as Lisa started striking up a conversation with Henry, she noticed Amy already being engaged in one by Mark- and the auburn-haired teen looked very interested indeed. Lisa didn't have to try real hard to guess where that conversation might be going- or would certainly go soon.

The blonde girl recalled how almost all of the girls at Chamberlain that Henry had dated were cheerleaders- popular, stunningly attractive girls who had been in the perfect position to get Henry's attention. Lisa had gone through some rough times with those of them that were friends with her- invariably, as soon as a girl became Henry's latest girlfriend, Lisa had a new name against which she wanted to commit murder. It made her nearly seethe with furious envy when she listened to their breathless tales of how kind Henry was, how romantic- and when the relationship had progressed that far, how… amazing… he was at certain things. Or really, everything. How great he looked with his shirt off- and how heart-stopping it was when you finally got to see the muscular blonde with everything off. It made Lisa want to kill somebody, having to listen to all that. It would be worth strangling one of those girls with her bare hands, if only the judge would let Lisa go out with Henry Evans first.

Lisa was one of the most sought-after girls in the school- and having had her 'first' in the eighth grade, she could brag of a little more experience than some of the high-and-mighty "I'm not doing It until I get married" girls who'd dared call themselves a worthy girlfriend for Henry over the years. Lisa was no "slut", but she'd been with a couple boys- including Jason Morgan at a party, though she hoped Henry hadn't heard about that- and knew experience with It was, like with everything else, always the best teacher. Lisa could give Henry the thrill of his life, be the best girlfriend he'd ever had. All she needed was the chance to prove it.

"So, Lisa," Henry said, breaking the attractive blonde out of her reverie, "Have a good summer?"

"Oh, yeah," Lisa nodded, smiling in affirmation. "My family flew down to Florida for a couple weeks- I got a great tan."

"Wish I could've been there for that," Henry said as he picked up a corn dog nugget, and Lisa's heart about melted. She'd have sunbathed naked if she'd known Henry was watching. This boy was just gorgeous. That shiny blonde hair- natural, not dyed and almost yellow like John LaFleur's- those smooth, iron-hard muscles that flowed like water under his shirt, that smooth, fairytale-prince face with those icy-blue eyes… Henry was like a boy Lisa had once created in her dreams. He was handsome, kind, smart, strong- just like those princes in the fairytales Lisa had read as a little girl. Henry was like them- only better. Because those princes were confined to the pages of books. Henry was not confined in such a way; he was all real.

"Me, too," Lisa added, and the smile Henry gave at that made Lisa thankful she was sitting down. Her knees turned to water at that warm, charming smile.

"You wanna catch dinner sometime?" Lisa asked, the words out of her mouth before she could call them back.

"I'd need your number for that," Henry said, matter-of-factly. "Wouldn't I?"

"Sure would," Lisa nodded.

"Well," Henry said, looking at Lisa and lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. "How about I bring the Beast by your place tonight? I'm gonna work out with Anthony and the guys for a while, but I'll come get you. Anyplace you wanna go?"

"My dad knows this guy at TGI Fridays," Lisa said. "We could get a great deal over there."

"Thank God It's Friday, then," Henry said with a smile. Lisa smiled too. As she got up to get her tray- which was really just for appearances anyway, since Lisa almost always coughed up her lunch to keep from fearing the scale more than she already did- the slender blonde girl couldn't help adding, "Make sure you can be out a while," she said in a flirtatious voice, "In case we decide to… stay out late."

As Lisa moved away, she thought she heard one of the guys- John LaFleur, maybe- exchange a high-five with Henry.

_Thank God it's Friday, indeed_. For the rest of the day Lisa would be on a cloud, spaced-out in class and with a dreamy look on her face. She barely heard when her English teacher tried getting her to pay attention by asking her something about which of Shakespeare's plays was most overlooked as one of his greats, and it took a quick save by Amy Philips- a girl Lisa treated well, not least for never trying to steal Henry from her- to keep Lisa from saying something very rude in reply to Mr. Eastrise. She didn't give a damn about Shakespeare most any day of the week, least of all today.

She'd gotten a date with Henry Evans after waiting for three years. She just hoped Henry would be as eager to head for first base as she was. Henry was known to be a very take-charge kind of boy in his relationships. He didn't like it when a girlfriend tried to tell him what to do, and had a low tolerance for anyone- male or female- who attempted to argue with him. Henry just liked being the one in charge- past girlfriends all said it was because he liked being the "white knight", a noble boy who took care of everything and let the girl just sit back and enjoy the benefits of being _his_ girl. Lisa thought that sounded just fine- and it was just what she planned to do.

Mark's first class for the afternoon, starting at 12:40 and going until 1:35, was AP Chemistry with Ms. Julie Michaels. It was one of the only classes Mark didn't share with his brother Henry, who was taking Ceramics with Mrs. Meier instead. He was a big fan of the arts, Henry- the English and Art Department heads both regarded Henry as one of the best they'd ever seen. It was one of the only times Mark truly saw his brother calm, at peace- and not secretly wishing he could pummel into oblivion the losers and weaklings he was almost constantly surrounded with. For whatever reason, the study of fine arts and literature brought Henry peace- almost as much, in fact, as being with his brother. The bond they shared was closer than any other siblings at the school, hands down. No other siblings they'd ever met understood each other as well as Mark and Henry did.

But Henry was adamant about Ceramics, just as much as Mark couldn't say no to Chemistry- so they headed off to their separate classes, Mark discussing a party for one of the coming weekends with Anthony and John before congratulating Henry on his date. The blonde just shrugged, smirking. "That was really too easy," he said, and he meant it. But Henry was still visibly pleased- the more he could get Lisa to beg like a puppy, the easier everything would be.

Chemistry was a fascinating class for Mark. He loved the vast possibilities it presented to someone who knew what all the proper terms and measurements meant, even with simple household materials. He enjoyed its connections with math classes, something Mark also did very well- and secretly, Mark harbored a deep love for how chemistry had given the world poison gas. To hell with mustard gas, that infamous substance that caused such great suffering. Mark normally would have applauded such a weapon, and certainly bore no grudge to the Germans for coming up with it. They'd seen it as a way of gaining the edge on the battlefield, and used it. Henry approved of that as well- you were an idiot if you didn't use everything you had in a fight.

But what Mark truly adored- what he really hoped chemistry would one day teach him how to make- was CAS number 107-44-8. Sarin. An odorless, colourless organophosphorous compound that was feared worldwide as the deadliest poison gas in history. Adolf Hitler's Third Reich had created it- something that made Mark yearn for a chance to have served as a scientist in that man's Germany. Sarin could not be seen or smelled- and without a fully-sealed suit to cover every inch of your skin and filter the air you breathed, you'd be dead in thirty seconds. Looking through a book on the history of chemical warfare in the local library, Mark had read a line stating that Sarin was 500 times more lethal than cyanide. Five hundred times. It was awesome to even contemplate.

Mark shook his head after a moment, sitting up at his desk and paying closer attention to what Ms. Michaels was saying. They were only in the first week of class, but already Mark could tell she really knew her stuff.

She had replaced Harold Messerschmitt- indeed a relative of the famed German aircraft designer- who had been Chamberlain High's Science Department head for more than ten years. Messerschmitt had clashed with Principal Decauter over the future of the school, though, and the rising emphasis on athletics- the whole damn school seemed to have gone nuts over sports of every kind since Henry and Mark Evans had shown up. Quietly cursing the boys who were making Chamberlain a household name across the State of Maine but at the cost of a true respect for academics, Harold Messerschmitt had taken his retirement at last at the end of the Mark and Henry's junior year. Julie Michaels, just done with obtaining her Master's Degree in Secondary Education at The Citadel Graduate College in Charleston, South Carolina the previous year, had been by far the most qualified candidate out of those considered- she came highly recommended from her professors at the graduate college, and had earned one of the highest GPA's in her class.

The auburn-haired teen didn't know what he liked better. How well the tall, shapely young blonde teacher knew her subject and how effectively she taught it- Mark had been hanging on just about every word she said in class this week- or how pretty she looked. No doubt about it. She was damned attractive- at not even thirty years old, she could have easily been mistaken for an undergraduate on any college campus in the country.

Normally, with a teacher who was anywhere near Mark or Henry's age, the brothers would play a game in class much like the one they did with girls their own age. Both boys knew that it just drove the girls who could see them crazy when they leaned back and stretched, or found most any excuse at all to casually flex their muscles.

It was even funnier when one of them stretched in class, making a great effort to show how casual he was about letting his short-sleeved shirt slip a little farther up his biceps, and the other got to watch as the female teacher who was the subject of this demonstration almost invariably stuttered or lost her train of thought. The same effect could be accomplished with some subtle flexing of the biceps, right at a moment Henry or Mark knew the teacher was watching. The students who didn't know Mark and Henry would do this at times- didn't see them at the back of the room- never noticed, and the guys or girls who did know were good at keeping a straight face now. Normally Mark wouldn't have thought twice about putting on a show for the new chemistry teacher, fighting to hold back laughter as his casual movements or flexes of a few powerful muscles invariably flustered her.

But Mark didn't do that today. Mark recalled, watching as Ms. Michaels talked them through the notes for today- which Mark was writing down diligently- how, truth be told, Mark and Henry really just did that for the female teachers who were young enough to still be flustered by it but neither boy would so much as look at twice. Ms. Michaels was just different from that. She was a young, pretty teacher, clearly knowledgeable in one of Mark's favourite subjects. From the start of the week Mark had been paying close attention to the class- and to her.


	3. Chapter 3- A Good Friday

**Chapter III- A Good Friday**

* * *

Henry's first class of the afternoon was already becoming his favourite this year. Ceramics was taught by the creative, enthusiastic Mrs. Meier, a fifty-something-year-old art teacher who Henry had been taking art classes from for years. You had to do a handful of more basic art classes before being allowed to take ceramics- which Meier readily confessed was easily her favourite of them all.

"Now," she was saying, "With the bowls we're going to start with as our first project, remember that the shape of it- the way you hand-mold the clay- matters every bit as much as what colour you ultimately want it to be. If you make it too thin, it'll break up in the kiln. Too thick, it won't bake properly."

Mrs. Meier paused as she passed by Henry's table; as usual, he was following right along. Nobody else seemed to learn as quickly as Henry did, or as well- it was incredible to look at the work he did. Right now, Henry was busy smoothing out the grayish clay into the shape of a bowl that looked quite fine, indeed. It looked good now, but when the kiln had baked it white and Henry began brushing it with the glaze- a special type of paint that was turned shiny and smooth by a second turn in the kiln- it would look truly beautiful. The veteran art instructor reminded herself to suggest that Henry consider being an arts major in college- once in a while Meier saw a student who looked like he or she had that kind of potential.

Not many, but a few- and when you saw a student like that, you could only hope that their abilities there would not stop with a few elementary art classes in high school. Henry had so much more potential than that. He was intelligent, polite and considerate- and though independent in his work, he was always smiling modestly as others inevitably came over to admire his work. It was already clear it wouldn't be a question of whether Henry would get an A for each assignment in ceramics class; it was instead a question of just how he would go about getting it. What style he chose for each piece.

Before the end of the year, Mrs. Meier reflected, Henry might see a few pieces sent to the display cases around the library- and perhaps to some of the high school art shows in the area. Henry definitely had that kind of ability. It was a rare thing to see- but truly beautiful. The strong, athletically-gifted and popular boy was a walking rebuke to the stereotype of the crude, unintelligent jock. Mrs. Meier had hardly ever seen a student so polite as him, or so calmly accepting of his classmates' admiration and praise. He was absorbed in his work even now, quietly creating truly beautiful artwork- all in a league of his own.

**XX**

3:45 brought the end of the school day and the start of the first weekend. Mark met up with his brother in the school cafeteria; it was a convenient gathering place and general common area for the school. Henry already had the keys to his Hummer in hand. "Come on, Mark," he said with a smile. "Let's go meet Anthony and the guys at the gym and just put 'em all to shame." His smiled grew a little wider as he relished the thought; Jason, John, Paul, Anthony- all of them regularly accompanied the brothers to the nearby YMCA to work out, or occasionally came with them to the smaller weight room there was in the basement of the Evans family home. No matter how hard they tried the guys could never do as well at lifting as Henry and Mark could. Henry liked rubbing in how much better he was than them, reminding his so-called friends why he and Mark were the ones in charge.

But Mark shook his head. "Can't come along this time," he said. "Chess Club has their first meeting today.

The blonde looked at his brother with a look of real skepticism on his face. "The Chess Club? Really, Mark? Why do you even waste your time with those nerds?"

"Because I like to watch them lose," Mark said simply. Henry laughed; sometimes Mark's casual way of relishing in the pain or misfortunes of others could take even him by surprise.

"I wouldn't even sit in the same room as those losers," Henry said seriously. "I don't know how you do it, Mark."

Mark just smiled. "It's a lot of fun, Henry," he said. "You should come with me this time! Those dorks just about wet their pants when I show up."

The blonde smiled at the thought; he had fun scaring the nerds about any day of the week. But ultimately he shook his head again. "No, man," he said. "I think I'd rather hit the gym. If I came along to this Chess Club thing, I'd start beating up the stupid little dorks. I'd get my workout done, but they'd be the punching bags."

"All right," Mark said, letting it go at that. "Hey, you got a pack on you?"

"Yeah," Henry said, reaching into his jeans pocket and tossing Mark a pack of cigarettes. They were Marlboros, Mark's favourite. "Nice," he smiled, then put them in his own pocket.

"I'm gonna go smoke my fuckin' lungs out in the parking lot," Henry said, ignoring a disapproving look from the head librarian as she passed by. "Gonna go work out, go pick up Lisa- tell Mom and Dad I'll be back towards 9 or whatever," Henry said, spinning his keys around on one finger.

"Cool," Mark said, nodding. "I'm gonna make it fun today. I think I'll make a special offer to the guys when Mr. Luce ain't in the room. A little incentive for them to play well and stop pissing their pants so much."

"Oh," Henry chuckled, "Gonna offer to get 'em laid if they win? You know that's gonna be a first for any of those losers."

"Yeah," Mark said, laughing a little myself. "Well, we wouldn't know what it's like to still be waiting, would we?"

"Nope!" Henry smiled. "Freshman year took care of that."

"And the state championship win," Mark grinned. "Man, that party the seniors threw fuckin' kicked ass."

"Freshman year kicked ass," Henry amended. "Never had so much fun. Well, until I got my license. Then shit got a lot better."

"I'm gonna make those dorks an offer they can't resist," Mark said. Laughing and smiling at the shared memories, Mark started to head back into the school, heading for Room 205, where the Chess Club met after school. He didn't go to every meeting, really just coming and going as he pleased. But it wasn't like Mr. Luce was gonna say anything.

As a matter of fact, he did say something that Friday- but not any complaint about Mark not being at every meeting. In fact, it was just the opposite- he wanted Mark to come to more meetings. He asked Mark to actually join the Chess Club.

"No," Mark said, standing outside the classroom with his arms folded over his dark blue muscle shirt. "I haven't got the time."

"Well," Mr. Luce said modestly, "I wish you'd consider it, Mark. You manage to come to enough meetings you could be a member. And we can't send you to any of the tournaments until-"

"I just don't have time, Mr. Luce," Mark said, as if explaining himself to a small child. "I'm co-captain of two Varsity teams and I'm in all AP classes." Essaying a small joke, Mark added, "I'll be lucky if I have time to sleep this year."

"All right," Mr. Luce sighed, seeing the auburn-haired teen wasn't budging. He wished Mark wouldn't fold his arms over his chest like that- it was actually pretty intimidating. "But you'll come to a few meetings, right? The guys could really use a chance to learn from someone as talented as you."

Smiling at the compliment, Mark gave a slight shrug. "I'll see what I can do."

Sitting in Room 205 as the school buses pulled away outside, Mark calmly leaned back in his chair as he faced Matt Kreuz, a red-haired and gangly youth who was considered to be one of the Chess Club's more able players. "That's pretty good," Mark said lazily, studying Matt's pieces. "You have checkmate in five moves."

Hope dawned on Matt's face; nobody had ever beaten Mark Evans since he'd started coming to meetings his junior year. If Matt beat Mark today, he'd be a legend for sure. But why was the muscular boy so calm? Normally the Evans brothers seemed to take any kind of defeat or even inconvenience as a personal insult. Here Mark was just as cool and calm as you please. So even though he fully intended to seize the chance he had, to take his chance of beating Mark in five moves, Matt had to ask. "So… why aren't you worried?"

"Because I have checkmate in three."

Sure enough, Mark did. Ten minutes later- Matt had a feeling Mark had dragged it out on purpose- the game was over. Matt Kreuz was beaten yet again.

Michael Ripley stepped up, then Edward Croix. Neither of them did any better. Mr. Luce, who had sat by his desk watching each of Mark's games, finally came over by the end of the third, raising his voice as he addressed the twenty-something students in the room. "I think we should all take advantage of the opportunity we have here today," he said, looking over at the muscular, tall, auburn-haired boy sitting back in his chair. "Mark Evans is here today, and as you all know he's one of the better players we have at this school. Experience is the best teacher, and Mark here has plenty of it to share with the rest of you. I'd recommend each of you play him at least once today."

Excusing himself moments later to retrieve a cup of coffee from the teacher's lounge, the short, portly teacher headed off to his stated destination.

Looking at the thin, gangly freshman almost visibly trembling as he sat down to try challenging Mark, the auburn-haired, muscular boy smirked a little. "You know what happens if you win, right?"

The small, mousy-haired boy almost jumped in his chair when Mark spoke to him. "Wh-what happens if I win?" he asked, wide-eyed and uncertain.

Mark grinned like a wolf. "You get to have some fun this weekend." He shrugged, considering that. "Or next weekend. Your choice."

"W-whaddya mean?"

The auburn-haired football and hockey player leaned forward in his seat, beginning to set up his pieces for the new game. "I'll talk to one of the cheerleaders. Arrange a little… private time for the both of you. Trust me, she won't say no to you if I tell her what a great guy you are."

The freshman's eyes widened as the truth of what Mark was saying sunk in. From just about anyone else the offer would have been as full of air as a chunk of pumice. But from Mark Evans, the rich, handsome jock who got laid like clockwork and had dated just about every one of the most popular girls in school… that was no hollow offer. The freshman- Brent Keller- played like his life depended on it. He'd never found such incentive to win in his life. When he sat back, his shoulders slumped in defeat, Matt Kreuz politely asked if he could play a second round. Mark nodded; Matt was one of the only guys who was even halfway entertaining to play against. Ultimately Matt turned away too, dispirited and beaten even worse than last time- but another challenger stepped up, and another.

Soon it seemed like every freshman in the room was trying to beat Mark- and he could tell none of them were holding anything back. He couldn't quite hold back a smirk as he realised this- what a powerful motivating factor his offer was. The chess club was mostly new guys this year, and the older ones seemed to have forgotten that Mark's deal with them still stood. This reminder was the best thing he'd thought of all week. Well, that and chatting up Amy Philips at lunch. He hadn't asked her out- not yet- but he'd gotten her number and would give her a call this weekend. Amy would be going out with him before long, and not long after that…

After a while, though, Mark wished Henry had come along. Even the best of these Chess Club kids got boring to play against after a few rounds; Henry was the only one who had ever been able to challenge, the auburn-haired teen, let alone match him. Mark found his excuse to leave when Henry called at 4:50pm, mentioning that he was getting ready to go to dinner with Lisa. Mark stepped out into the hallway to take the call, figuring he'd just let 'em know he had to leave when he came back.

"Mom and Dad hope you can be home in time for dinner, Mark," Henry said. "Better not just leave 'em with Connie. They'd be better off talking to themselves."

Mark chuckled. That was certainly true. Connie didn't have a whole lot to contribute to any conversation at dinner; certainly not after Mark and Henry's latest roll of academic and athletic achievements came through. Plus there were college applications to discuss. More than enough to keep Wallace and Susan all but literally entranced by their magnificent sons. In their shadow, Connie didn't have much to offer. She was a good-looking girl- good looks definitely ran in the Evans family- and fairly smart, but where she got A's and B's in class Mark and Henry got straight A's. Where she was looking at perhaps playing lacrosse or soccer in junior high school, Henry and Mark were at present the leaders of two Varsity high school teams. Connie had lived every year since Mark's arrival in 1994 in her older brothers' shadow- and as long as Henry or Mark had anything to say about it that was how it was always gonna be.

"I'll call and tell 'em I'll be there," Mark said.

"Good," Henry said. "Give the chess nerds my regards."

"You mean the way _you_ would, or what?"

"However you want to, Mark," Henry said. "I think you'll pick the right way to do it."

Laughing a little at Henry's matter-of-fact mention of his great trust in Mark, the auburn-haired teen hung up, again thankful that he'd been given so smart, strong and generous a brother. There was no need for assurances or promises between the two of them- each brother knew the other would keep his word to him, always. Everyone else was fair game. The Evans brothers didn't usually lie about things they said they would do for others, but if they did, who was gonna call them on it? None of the guys on the team, that's for sure, or any of the popular girls. Or any of the teens who, through their own friendships with some of the big-shots at Chamberlain, knew they stood a chance of getting invited to Henry and Mark's next party. That didn't leave many people.

"I gotta head out, guys," Mark announced as he returned to the classroom. Mr. Luce thought the soft sighs and looks of disappointment were because the could-be-champion player (if only he would join) was leaving. The auburn-haired teen knew it was due to a very different kind of disappointment- the thrill of a guaranteed home run with one of Mark's hot female friends had again eluded them. It was a sadness that just warmed Mark's heart. He liked to offer them something all those teenage boys obviously wanted- even intend to actually give it to them if they met the terms- knowing full well they stood no chance of getting it.

**XX**

Henry's giant black Hummer arrived at Lisa Doyle's imposing white Victorian home at exactly 5:00pm; Lisa was in her room, brushing her hair while her eyes jumped nervously to the window. When she heard the growling of the military-grade diesel engine outside, her heart jumped. Lisa had been talking excitedly with Brittany Dawson- her best friend again now that Henry had broken up with her this past summer- almost all afternoon. What should she wear on a first date with Henry; what did he like- what didn't he like? Lisa had asked a million questions and each one Brittany answered only seemed to create more. But finally she settled on a light yellow t-shirt, faded brand-name jeans, and her favourite tan suede jacket. Henry was known to favour darker colours- navy blue, emerald green, ruby red and black in particular- so it seemed to make sense that his girlfriend(!) would wear something lighter. At least this time around.

When Lisa saw Henry coming up the drive, she saw immediately that in the cool of the evening he had exchanged his black KISS shirt for a gray polo and ruby red sweater and his new jeans for khakis. His blonde hair was combed nicely to either side, a few strands hanging down to either side of his face. He looked very sexy; even with a sweater on Lisa could see the powerful muscles in his frame. It had been the thrill of her life to see him at the pool once or twice during Spring Break last year. Hopefully she'd do better than just see him during Break this year…

Then came the knock at the door. Lisa's heart jumped in her chest. Instantly thoughts began racing through her head. Should she be the first to the door- should she wait up in her room? She started to hurry out into the hallway, but- oh, hell- she'd forgotten her damn socks! She wasn't even wearing shoes!

"I-I'll just be a minute, Mom!" Lisa called as she heard someone heading for the door and recalled her mother had been in the kitchen preparing dinner- today, just for herself and Lisa's father.

"Okay, Lisa," Christina Doyle called back. "I think the boy will wait a minute."

From her tone, Lisa could tell her mother was a little skeptical of how breathless and thrilled the blonde girl was over her first date with Henry Evans. She didn't think he was such a big deal, or at least that Henry was just another boy, however attractive and handsome and just so damned sexy-

Well, that was Lisa's thinking. Her mother- she just didn't know what she was talking about if she thought Henry was "just another boy". Lisa adored Henry Evans like no one and nothing else in her life- and she was only on her first date with him.

Naturally Christina had heard of the tall, handsome blonde hockey and football star- he had done some photo-shoots for a school calendar along with his brother and some other team members this past summer. Word was the two Evans brothers were prominently featured, and were often shown in swim trunks or exercise shorts. Lisa hadn't been the only member of the Doyle household to give ordering one of these calendars when they came out this semester serious thought.

For her part, Lisa planned on having a topless picture of Henry taped to the wall beside her bed- so she could look over and see him every night, like she wished she could really do.

As Lisa hurriedly stepped back in her room to look in the mirror, making sure her hair was right, her minor applications of makeup- Lisa took great pride in needing very little, so good were her looks- and finally getting her shoes on, she could hear the door open and Henry greet Lisa's mom downstairs.

"Mrs. Doyle," Henry said, and Lisa smiled as she could almost see Henry give a slight bow. "We finally meet. I've heard so much about you."

"Oh, is that so?" Lisa's mom was obviously trying hard not to be impressed. Henry was a real charmer when he wanted to be.

"Well, Henry said smoothly, "It's obvious where Lisa gets her looks from. Better be careful around some of the guys on my teams, Mrs. Doyle- at a game they might mistake you for one of the cheerleaders."

"You stop that!" Christina said, but she was laughing. "You flatterer. What am I to do with you?"

"Might I come inside, perhaps, to meet the famous Mr. Doyle? I understand he's doing very well running a new Jeep-Eagle dealership."

"As a matter of fact," Lisa heard her mother say, "He's just coming back from a meeting with some of his employees today. The new Visions are selling about as well as the Jeeps these days. It's keeping him very busy."

"Well," Henry said smoothly, "I look forward to meeting Mr. Doyle when Lisa and I get back later. Could I come in?"

"Oh, certainly," Christina said, quite thoroughly impressed with this boy. Lisa's taste was getting to be truly excellent these days. A small-time sports star for a date! That was something. Calling upstairs, Christina said, "Lisa? Dear, are you ready yet?"

"Coming, Mom!" Lisa called, hurriedly pulling her other shoe on and nearly falling over herself in her haste to get out the door of her room. Then she halted- took a deep breath- and slowly letting it out, walked down the hall, turned at the stairs and came down them, smiling as she caught sight of Henry.

"Hi, Henry," she said, blushing a little at how warmly she said it. Henry just smiled, taking Lisa's left hand in his as she reached the bottom of the stairs. Like he had done moments ago with Mrs. Doyle, he raised her hand and kissed it gently.

"You look beautiful," Henry said, and he meant it. She wasn't dressed to formally, or too casual- just right. The blonde almost regretted making her wait this long before finally asking her out. Almost. The rewards of making Lisa wait and wait all these years, however, were sure to make Henry's delaying worth it. It had just made this gorgeous blonde so much more eager to get him- and she'd probably do damn near anything if it meant getting to keep him.

"Thanks," Lisa said modestly, almost reverting to the vocabulary of a two-year-old and forgetting how to talk altogether. She just could hardly believe this was real.

"You ready to go?" Henry said. "If you need to do anything first, I can wait a few minutes."

Oh, he's wonderful, Lisa thought. Henry was just too much.

But she shook her head. "No, I'm ready." She most certainly was. She'd been waiting for this moment for years.

An hour later, the two were still lingering over dinner at TGI Friday's, and Henry had even flattered Lisa into getting a bit of dessert. It was fried ice cream, made in this amazing ceramic bowl- Henry could have made it, he was so good at that class- and Henry and Lisa ate it together. The evening was so much like the dates Lisa had visualized one day having with Henry it made her head spin. She'd never eaten so complete a meal while out with somebody; constantly focused on her figure, Lisa resisted ordering a full meal. She generally tried to eat light.

But Henry, smiling warmly and telling Lisa this was her night, it was all about her, convinced her otherwise. Then he'd swayed her on dessert again- where she'd tried to really put her foot down. Lisa had said no, she needed to watch her weight- specifically mentioning it to Henry, and she _never_ said that- but Henry had just looked at her. Right in the eyes. The look on his face had been so solemn, the sound of his voice so soft… it had made Lisa want to cry. And Henry had said, "I think you look beautiful. You think a little ice cream will change that?"

Not to Henry, it wouldn't. Lisa had that fried ice cream, and it was every bit as good as she'd hoped. She didn't feel guilty about it at all- and vowed that whatever it took, she wouldn't be coughing this meal up later. Not this one. Henry wouldn't want her to. Sitting there across the table from Henry, Lisa wondered if she shouldn't lessen the number of times she did that in a week. She was hardly doing it to excess- in no way was Lisa one of those anorexic freaks- but she did cough up a few lunches now and then. She weighed 145 and that was as far as she wanted to go. But Lisa knew she was quite slender, plenty attractive- and maybe Henry wouldn't mind if she gained a pound or two. As long as she wasn't one of those fat slobs she saw at school every day. Anything but that. Henry wouldn't have even looked at her then.

As it happened, the handsome blonde was looking at her right now. He took a drink of his ice water and looked down at the surface of the table in the booth they were sharing. "You know," he said shyly, "I was so nervous about asking you out today."

Lisa's heart about stopped at that. Henry, nervous? About asking out a girl?

"Really?" Lisa could hardly hear herself speak. "Why?"

"I remember seeing you, first day of school freshman year. You were the prettiest girl I ever saw." Henry paused, looking uncertain about what to say next. Then he just smiled a little. "Well, I'm glad you said yes when I asked you."

Lisa Doyle's smile could have melted a frozen lake. "I'm glad I said yes, too."


	4. Chapter 4- Going to Chatham

**Chapter IV- The Evan's Go to Chatham**

* * *

Built in 1894, Chatham Hall was an all-girls' private boarding school in the small Virginia town of Chatham, approximately an hour's drive from the much larger city of Danville. Fifteen years after its opening, an all-boys' private boarding school, the Chatham Training School, was opened on the other side of town. Now called the Camden Military School, it housed some 250 junior-high to high school boys, all of them cadets in those slate-gray dress uniforms first designed for the school in the 1920's. Chatham Hall required its own uniform, but it was obviously less restrictive and more like you would typically expect from a girls' school- dark skirts and such.

The school had almost exactly a hundred fewer students than CMS- 130, and that meant a teacher-to-student ratio of 1-7. Chatham Hall was very expensive- it had stunned more than a few prospective students and parents when they saw the tuition cost per year- but was equally prestigious. A girl who went there was certain to have her hard work recognized by the end of senior year, with an almost total guarantee of acceptance to the college of her choice.

Connie Evans, of course, knew all that. If she went there, she'd have a chance to really do well in school and perhaps have people notice. She was just old enough to go, since Chatham Hall's earliest classes began for the sixth grade. Connie was looking forward to it. It had taken a lot of persuading, a lot of negotiations with both her parents- and many hard hours of research. She'd really had to go to new heights to win her mother over on this one, and then her father. A key thing she'd had to remember was to avoid specifically mentioning that the family could afford it. They could- how else could Mark and Henry have both gotten a new car twice in their high school careers?- but Wallace didn't like hearing "We can afford it" as the reason he should buy or do something. You needed a better reason than that.

But talking to her mother, Connie had done pretty well. She'd honestly told Susan that she felt overshadowed here- like nothing she did mattered in the face of her big hero brothers. They had amazing grades, were small-time heroes in Maine for their achievements in sports, and were- as Connie was quite aware- damn good-looking. It was like they could do everything better than their sister could, and she would be able to step out of their shadow, however hard she tried. What needed to be done, then, was to try something else. Connie wanted to go to a boarding school, someplace where she could do things on her own, without her brothers constantly outdoing her at everything she tried. Connie wanted to go to Chatham Hall.

The decision had finally been made towards the end of this past summer. When Henry and Mark found out about the idea, they'd actually put their efforts towards helping persuade Wallace alongside Susan. Connie grudgingly accepted their help, knowing full well why they were doing it- Henry and Mark were assisting Connie on this because they wanted her gone.

Things hadn't always been this way. Connie remembered how all the way until she was six, Henry was this big, mean boy who didn't like her. He was always stealing her things, putting stuff in her food, or just doing bad things he knew would make her cry. Connie, even when she'd been a baby, had taken to disliking Henry so much that if he got too close to the infant Connie she bit him. For six years of her life that had more or less been the way of things. The best thing Connie had been able to hope for was being ignored- and after enough times discovering what Henry would do after she tried telling on him, Connie accepted that with gratitude. But Henry was always getting annoyed about things. The one time he had calmed down much at all was when their cousin Mark had shown up.

For two weeks, this nice, kind boy- so unlike Connie's brother Henry- had shown up and stayed with them in Maine. He was polite, careful about what he said, gentle and never angry or impatient with Connie. That first week Mark had stayed with her family, Connie found herself wishing she could trade Henry for Mark and never have Henry come back to Maine again. Arizona sounded like it was a very long way off- more than far enough. But in the second week Mark was with them, things changed a little. Henry was indeed in a better mood than he'd ever been before, and it was clear he and Mark were fast becoming friends. Connie had felt some disappointment when Mark had joined Henry in starting to ignore her, and a little more when she'd noticed Mark was beginning to pick up on some of Henry's stupid habits. Connie wasn't dumb- she knew what that smell she sometimes noticed on Henry was. It was those things you weren't supposed to touch until you were eighteen, and even then you still shouldn't because they were bad for you. Connie knew what cigarettes smelled like, and it was a little sad when she realized Mark was sneaking off and smoking them too- almost always going with Henry.

Then Mark had left, though, and Henry had returned to his old ways- tormenting Connie because as a mean boy with no friends, he had nothing else to do besides sneak off to that stupid shed of his. The bullying had not only come back, it had gotten worse. The treatment Connie received from Henry in late 1993 and into 1994 was the worst she'd ever known from her brother. Henry seemed liable to fly off the handle at the slightest provocation, able to explode into anger over next to nothing. She hated him, but in a sense understood when she guessed the reason why Henry was in such a bad mood- he missed Mark. Considering how much nicer Henry had been- comparatively- when Mark had been here, Connie missed him too. She found herself wishing Mark would come back, and promised herself she wouldn't complain, wouldn't say anything if he'd only come back and live with them again. He could even smoke all the stupid cigarettes he wanted to.

Something both great and terrible had happened then. In the spring of 1994, Mark had nearly been killed in a fire at his house. He got out, but Uncle Jack wasn't so fortunate. There had been little left to do besides adopt Mark- and soon after making the arrangements for Jack's funeral, Wallace and Susan had done that. Connie had been delighted to hear Mark was coming back to Maine for good, that he was coming to stay in Rockbridge as her brother.

Well, she _had _been.

Mark's return had also done much to restore Henry's treatment of her during those two weeks in December. He now ignored her most of the time, and only rarely became angry or did something mean. For a while, it really did seem to be an improvement.

Then the two boys had turned into teenagers, growing taller and stronger all the time. They worked out constantly in their room, grunting and sweating as they switched through sets of weights or did pushups fifty at a time. Their grades shot up to straight A's in their eighth grade year and held that way for the 9th, when they had led their school's Varsity hockey team to a state championship win and come damn close with the Varsity football team. Henry and Mark started building their muscles, their grades and their list of athletic achievements. By the 9th grade Connie's brothers were some of the most popular boys in school, and after they had sweated, strained, and fought tooth and nail to take the trophy in that final state championship hockey game, they were small-time heroes all over Rockbridge and even Portland. The suburb of Rockbridge had never in forty years seen a pair of freshmen with so much potential, such promise. Mark and Henry became heroes to anybody who even halfway cared about the town's history or athletic fame. They grew tall, muscular and with enough hard-packed meat on their shoulders to block up a doorway. It hadn't even stopped there- as the saying went, that was only the beginning.

From their 9th grade year, it seemed like Henry and Mark Evans could do no wrong. They swiftly surpassed everything Connie could even try to do. They towered over her academically, athletically- and literally, given how as seniors Mark and Henry were both over six feet tall. Mom never missed so much as one of their games, and neither did Dad. In fact, Dad would take time off from work to be at one of Mark and Henry's games- something Connie could _never_ remember Dad ever doing for her.

And then of course, there was last summer. That had really been the last straw for Connie. She'd begun to notice that her friends wanted to come over more often after Henry and Mark began to bench-press two hundred pounds and won both football and hockey state championships in sophomore year. Initially Connie had been pleased- until she discovered her friends were really just making the necessary excuses so they could come over and gawk at Connie's "hot" brothers, longing for a chance to run their hands over the brother's steadily-growing muscles. Connie had gritted her teeth and put up with this as best she could, but by the summer of 1997 they weren't even being subtle about it.

**XX**

"Did you see him?" Candace asked, almost breathless with excitement.

"Which one?" Sheila replied.

"Both of them!" Emily sighed, still disbelieving that those boys were even real.

Connie just grumbled and flopped down on her bed, crossing her arms and looking out the window. It had been like this for a full hour, ever since three of Connie's best friends had asked to come over for this afternoon. When asked if they wanted to do anything in particular by a surprised Connie, Candace had just laughed a little as they talked on the phone. "Oh, you know," Candace said, and Connie could almost see her shrug. "We can just hang out."

Normally that would mean just what your friend said it did- they'd come over and you'd meet with them, and together you'd find some pleasant and even fun ways of passing an afternoon. That was part of what made it so nice- getting to hang out with your friends and not have to worry about planning anything in particular.

But not now. Things had changed. Connie just couldn't stand it, but she knew her friends were right. Obviously _she_ didn't look at Mark or Henry the way Emily, Sheila and Candace did, but even being their sister Connie could tell her brothers were strong, good-looking boys. Had she not been their sister, stuck in the same house as them, Connie had a sense she'd probably be drooling over Mark and Henry right now.

"I know!" Sheila exclaimed. She and the other three girls- including Connie, glowering the whole way- had all clustered around the corner of the entrance hallway, looking around the doorway and into the living room on the first floor. Connie's brothers were watching a movie, sitting there in shorts and t-shirts with the already-short sleeves of the t-shirts rolled up. It was hot outside- well over eighty degrees- and Mark and Henry liked dressing light for the summer, as well as taking every chance possible to show off their muscles to any girls who might be looking. The minute Candace had seen Mark absentmindedly raise one arm and flex it while brushing at it with his hand, she had made a small "Eep!" and darted back upstairs, going just as fast and quietly as she could. Connie followed, muttering curses all the way.

Mark had done that on purpose.

"Oh, man," Emily sighed. "Aren't they _hot_?"

"You are _so_ lucky," Candace declared.

Connie glared at her dark-haired friend. "Why? How am I lucky? I have to _live_ with them!"

"I know!" Candace said again. "You get to see them, like, all summer! All _day_!"

"You know something?" Emily said, brushing at her reddish-blonde hair. "I think Henry looks _exactly_ like Ivan Drago. You know, from that _Rocky_ movie? He's like that guy as a teenager."

"Is it true… they like to sleep _naked_?" Sheila asked that one, and couldn't possibly have sounded more thrilled at the idea.

"Uck!" Connie exclaimed. "Where'd you even _hear_ that?"

"Well," Sheila said, "Candace told me that her big sister told her that this one girl your brother Mark dated said-"

"I don't care about that!" Connie insisted, getting more irritated every second.

"God," Emily sighed. "Can you _imagine_?"

"I think about it all the time," Candace declared. She was fond of declaring things, especially when it came to boys.

"Ew!" Connie spat, repulsed at the very idea. "I'm their _sister_!"

"Too bad for you," Sheila said, her eyes getting a faraway look. She was probably busy trying to visualize Mark and Henry as she'd seem them in the living room, one on a couch and the other sprawled out in an armchair. They were watching a movie- something with German classical music and a lot of noisy helicopters- and had of course made a point of not noticing Connie's friends clustered in a doorway. Right now, Connie was sure, Sheila was trying to remember what she'd seen of the Evans brothers. Maybe trying to picture them asleep in bed, sun-bathing at the beach, or stripping off everything as they got ready to take a shower-

"Don't you guys want to _do_ anything?" Connie demanded, nearly furious at her friends' dreamy faces. They were all doing what Sheila was doing!

"Connie's right," Emily said solemnly, and for a moment Connie felt a surge of hope.

"Maybe some yard work needs to be done," Emily speculated aloud. "Maybe we can ask them to take off their _shirts_."

"Oh, fantastic!" Sheila declared, sounding so much like Candace it was unreal. "That is an _awesome_ idea!"

Connie wanted to smash something.

"Well, come on," Candace said. "Let's go ask 'em!"

And with that the three girls began to scamper out into the hallway to head downstairs again, once more with a reluctant Connie in tow. This time, the three of them abruptly halted, though; the teenage Apollos were coming upstairs.

"What's up?" Henry said, Mark coming up the stairs behind him and following him down the hall.

"Uh, nothing," Candace said, abruptly becoming speaker for the other two breathless girls. "Were… uh-" She stuttered, blushed, and tried again. "What're you guys doing?"

"Oh, we were just coming up to change for our workout. We got a weight room set up in the basement," Henry said, trying to suppress a smirk as he saw Connie standing by her door, glowering at them.

"I'll see you back out here in a minute," Mark said to Henry as he headed for his- formerly Richard's- room in the hallway. Next door to that was Henry's room, and the two brothers headed into their rooms to change- each somehow forgetting to close his door.

"Eep!" Candace said again when she peeked around the corner, spotting Henry pulling off his t-shirt and dropping his jean shorts. Down the hall, Emily was having a similar reaction watching Mark, and Sheila kept darting indecisively between the two. When Mark, wearing his sleeveless white workout shirt and black mesh shorts, came out into the hallway, he spotted all three girls and gave them an odd look. Connie wanted to kick out a window pane as her three friends all turned red as a fire engine.

"You know," Mark said slowly, "if you wanted to look at me and my brother, all you had to do was ask."

The three girls were silent for a moment. None of them said anything.

"_Cool_!" Emily exclaimed.

"Great!"

"Awesome!"

Henry came out of his room then, dressed the same way as Mark. The three girls stared in awe at his powerful shoulders and biceps- at both of them, really- and after a moment of this Henry smirked a little. He crouched down near the three girls- Henry and Mark towered over them at seventeen years old and some six feet tall- and held out an arm. "You wanna feel my muscles?" Henry said invitingly.

Candace walked hesitantly forward, still the boldest of the three. It took no small amount of courage on her part- Henry's arms were at least twice as thick as the eleven-year-old girl's neck. Cautiously putting out a hand, she set it on Henry's arm and felt around a little bit. Her eyes widened at how firm the blonde teen's arm was; it was like every bit of him was muscle. Then Henry flexed his muscle, and instantly what had been firm and tough became hard rock. Candace gasped in amazement, Emily and Sheila following suit as they watched, and Connie just grumbled one of the more colourful words she'd heard Mark use the other day when he thought only Henry could hear him.

"Come on, man," Mark said to his brother. "Let's go work out. They can tag along and watch if they want."

"That is, unless you guys have anything else you'd rather do," Henry said with a slight smile that widened as his eyes found Connie, still standing by the door of her room.

"Nope!" Candace shook her head.

"Nuh-uh!" Emily said.

Sheila was too busy staring at Mark's chest. And his abs. And his arms.

The two teenagers headed downstairs to the basement then, and shortly after they got down there- with Connie's three friends closely in tow- they watched in awe as Henry and Mark began the afternoon workout with two hundred and ten pushups- nonstop. Only the lightest sheen of sweat was visible on either boy's brow when he was done, and neither of them was even breathing hard.

"Do you guys work out with your shirts off?" Sheila asked.

Mark just shrugged and looked at Henry, who also shrugged. "Sometimes."

"You want us to?" Mark asked, smiling a little.

The three girls could hardly even find the words. They just stared, and after a bit Candace nodded slightly.

"Okay," Henry said with a smile and a nod. "Anything for a few of Connie's friends." He pulled the exercise shirt over his head and tossed it aside, and Mark followed suit.

"Whoah!" Candace gasped, pointing at Henry's torso. "He's got an eight-pack!"

"So does he!" Emily insisted, pointing at Mark.

"Plenty to go around," Henry grinned. "We'd better get started, Mark. These girls expect a show."

And a show they got. Connie sat outside in the main room of the basement, twiddling her thumbs and sometimes throwing a baseball against the wall. Just through the nearby doorway she could hear Mark and Henry grunting from time to time as they worked through one exercise or another, using both open floor space, dumbbells, and a few exercise machines. Much of the time Connie couldn't hear a sound from any of her friends. She knew what was happening; they were staring in awe, held spellbound as Henry and Mark pumped more iron than any one of her friends weighed. Or possibly all three of them combined. What truly infuriated Connie was hearing the gasps and giggles her friends occasionally emitted; once Connie glanced into the room and saw Mark had picked up Candace and was bench-pressing her.

With one arm.

It went gone on that way for another hour and a half, and it was all Candace, Emily or Sheila had wanted to talk about for the rest of the afternoon. Connie didn't even know why she bothered calling her friends these days. Half the time they just showed up on their own, like this. And all they ever wanted to do was check out Mark, Henry, or the both of them. As their sister, Connie might as well have not existed. All her friends seemed to feel sorry for her, whether they said it aloud or not- after all, Connie lived in the same house as two of the hottest boys in town and couldn't do a thing to flirt with them. It was so very unfair, all Connie's friends told her. So very unfair indeed.

**XX**

Connie woke up abruptly as the Eagle Vision Henry had gotten as his first car accelerated suddenly, its V6 winding up the revs as the supercharger kicked in.

"Henry," Susan scolded from the backseat, "That's really not necessary."

"I'm not going above the speed limit, Mom," Henry responded politely. "I did a lot of work so the Golden Eagle could get us to Chatham on time."

"He's just keeping us on schedule, Mom," Mark added, also quite politely. "Besides, did you see how slow that tanker was going?"

"I did," Susan said, "But not so fast next time, all right, Henry? Remember your whole family's in this car. It's not just you and the guys."

"Yes, Mom," Henry said from the driver's seat, sharing a secret grin with Mark- sitting over in the passenger's seat- as the Eagle's speedometer needle crept down from 87 miles an hour. Just a few seconds of hitting the gas to get 17 miles over the speed limit- that wasn't bad. Not bad at all.

They had started the trip at the ungodly hour of 6am Saturday morning; it was about a six hour drive from Portland to Chatham, Virginia- a part of that state that was so close to North Carolina you were practically over the border already. And you would be, if you drove another forty minutes or so. Now it was close to noon, and Connie was still stuck in the backseat of Henry's first car, mollified only by the knowledge that she would be escaping her big brothers' shadows soon.

The titanic black Hummer that Henry drove had been ruled out for this drive. Though more than mechanically up for the journey and with enough cargo space in the wagon to move a small house's complete contents, the Hummer could only sit four people. Mark had considered using his Jeep, which could sit five, but then Henry suggested using the metallic gold-painted Eagle Vision he owned, the premium TSi performance model. Henry had worked on extensively since he'd got it brand-new in the summer of 1996, and now it boasted enough takeoff to be at least a challenge for any stock muscle car.

The same could be said of the Silver Talon- Mark's 1997 Eagle Talon TSi, a supercharged (by Henry) clone of the Mitsubishi Eclipse. Between their trucks and their cars, Mark and Henry had more than enough automotive knowledge and property to awe just about anyone in their lives. Even Wallace and Susan seemed solidly under that spell- never once had anybody brought up taking the Grand Voyager, and the van had seating for seven.

Connie knew all that- knew it all by heart. She couldn't wait to get out of this stupid car and start her new life at Chatham Hall. If her old friends in Rockbridge were disappointed that they couldn't quite so easily come over to ogle her "hot" brothers without Connie around, then too bad for them! Connie didn't like being used that way. Not by anybody, and certainly not so her so-called "friends" could just stare at her brothers all day. Let them try to show up at the house anytime without Connie to use as an excuse! She was looking forward to hearing about that, all right.

Henry very nearly got pulled over by a state trooper- he braked down to the right speed just in time, then resumed speeding ten over until they got to the exit- but no mishaps or incidents actually occurred. The Evans family got to Chatham, Virginia at exactly 12:30pm on Saturday, September 14th, 1998, to be as precise as possible. Connie stared at the brick-red and marble-white buildings with awe, around at the lush, fertile green of the Carolina country that existed on this side of the border. Dogwood trees dotted the lawn as they came up the main drive, and a pair of giant, ancient white oaks stood guard near the administration building.

"Come on, Connie," Susan said with a smile as she exited the rear passenger side of the car. "Let's get you checked in."

"Good thing classes here don't start till a week after ours do," Wallace said as he got out the other side of the car's rear. "I never could have found time to get Connie down here last week. I'm just a stockholder but it seems like Chrysler wants to ask me about everything Jeep-Eagle or Plymouth does these days." He grumbled a little at the memory. "I said I had some good ideas, not that I had nothing to do."

"It's just because they respect you, Dad," Henry said in a suave voice, rolling down all the door windows at once with a little black switch on his door. Shifting into park, he let the Eagle's engine idle quietly.

Wallace grunted, trying not to let on that he knew his son was buttering him up and not doing too bad a job of it. "Yeah, just like you do, huh, Henry?"

"Me, too, Dad," Mark added with a smile, leaning over towards Henry to look out at Wallace. It was a balmy September day- just warm enough that you could still enjoy a day outside, but with a definite hint of chilly weather on the way.

"Yeah, yeah," Wallace laughed, shaking his head and making him walk around the back of the Eagle to join his wife and daughter. Connie was looking impatient, and Susan was cutting eyes at her husband, who could certainly take a hint.

"We're gonna head inside and check Connie in," Wallace said, turning back to face his sons, now from the passenger's side window. "Be back in a few minutes; they'll tell us which dorm Connie's gonna stay in."

"Sure, Dad," Mark said, and Henry nodded, turning off the Eagle's engine.

"Promise not to drive back to Rockbridge without us?" Susan said, a smile on her face.

"Yes, Mom," Mark grinned. "I promise."

"But I've got the keys," Henry smirked, holding them up. "Mark's gotta convince me."

"I'll leave you to it," Susan smiled, turning and heading inside with her husband. Connie paused to shoot a dirty look at Henry, who just shrugged.

Once the three of them were safely inside and the front door of the administration building had closed, Henry flipped open a small storage compartment beneath the headlight control, situated to the left of the steering wheel. Taking out a pack of cigarettes, he pulled a lighter out of the light suede jacket he wore.

"I fuckin' hate her," Henry muttered around the Camel as he lit up the cigarette. "You know where I wish we'd sent her?"

"Where?" Mark asked as he stretched out and reclined the passenger seat. He already knew the answer, though.

"The _other_ fuckin' Hall," Henry said as he took in a breath of smoke, held it in, then turned his head left and breathed it outside the car.

Henry was not someone you could easily read or predict- unless you were Mark Evans. Then it was actually a pretty simple matter, understanding Henry. After all, if anyone understood Henry Evans in the world- anyone at all- it was Mark. More importantly, Mark was one of the only people Henry even wanted to be understood _by_. Everyone else he lied to shamelessly, whenever need or pleasure required it. No one deserved the truth from Henry. Nobody except Mark.

And as always, Mark pointed out the more practical matter at hand. "Look," Mark said with a shrug, "I know what you mean. But Connie's out of our hair now. We won't have to worry about her except when she comes home once in a while."

"Yeah," Henry said, taking a drag on the cigarette and then flipping it out the window. He didn't want the smoke's smell becoming too noticeable- so that meant a very short smoke break indeed. Finally he nodded. "You're right, Mark," he said.

"Fuckin-A I'm right," Mark said, and Henry turned to see his brother smirking at him.

"Why don't you go home and fuck yourself some more?" Henry asked.

"I would, but in a couple weeks I'll have Amy to do that for me," Mark said smugly.

"Go shit in your hat."

"I ate Lisa's pussy," Mark taunted.

"So?" Henry asked, completely unconcerned. "How'd it taste?"

"Pretty good, actually," Mark answered.

"Well, I wish I could say the same about Amy," Henry said, and now it as his turn to look smug.

"Dude," Mark said as he laughed a little, "Guys like us? I honestly think sometimes that we need regular, at least once-a-week sex. Go even close to a month and our goddamn balls will explode."

"Such is the life of the jock-prep, or prep-jock," Henry shrugged. "A muscular, handsome specimen of manliness with wads of cash in his designer-jeans pockets. Routine sex is necessary for this teenage creature, and it must be with a highly attractive female member of the species. If not sexually relieved on a regular basis, this teenager's balls with grow to such size that he cannot walk. And then they'll explode."

"Well, hello, Mister Fancypants!" Mark exclaimed. "Thank you for that!"

"You know black girls don't count?" Henry asked reflectively, eyeing the front door of Chatham Hall's administration building to make sure nobody was coming out yet.

"What?" Mark looked at him, a little surprised.

"I said, black girls don't count. Did you know that?"

Mark just laughed. "Wow. You're a total psycho _and_ a racist? Nice. You're _such_ a nice guy, Henry."

The blonde just shrugged. "I try," he said modestly. "And I'm not a racist, Mark. Just very picky."

"High standards, huh?"

"Yep."

Further discussion along these lines was halted by the front door of the Chatham Hall administration building opening, and Susan, Wallace and Connie returning back to the car, a handful of important-looking papers and files in hand.

"Just a short drive to go," Wallace said. "Connie's staying in Koerner Hall, up the hill."

Henry keyed the ignition and started the Eagle up again. "I see it." No more than a minute or two later, the family drove up to the front of the Koerner Hall dorm building. Initially Wallace was hesitant about him or his sons going into the dorm building of an all-girls' school, but then Susan pointed out several other families were doing the same thing, the sons and fathers helping the sisters and daughters with moving in.

Wallace had hardly begun to discuss who would carry what inside when Henry and Mark got out of the car, went around to the trunk, and without a word lifted Connie's four bags and carried them inside.

"Well, uh, that works," Wallace laughed, visibly startled despite already knowing about his sons' immense physical strength.

Connie just sighed and headed for the front doors of the building. She wanted to go find her room.

"You'll do fine, Connie," Susan said gently. "Your room's up on the third floor. Let's get you settled in, okay?"

"Sure, Mom," Connie said, somewhat grateful her mother thought her sigh had been out of nervousness rather than anger. In a sense that was best- Connie knew her mother, unlike some in the Evans household, actually wanted Connie to do well at this prestigious prep school, rather than just seeing it as a great excuse to get her out of the way.

When Connie opened the door to Room 302- she'd been given a key by Mrs. Kensington, the superintendent at Chatham Hall- she saw a dark-brown-haired girl of average height, wearing a navy blue polo and khakis sitting on a bed on the left side of the room. Everything was arranged with a kind of haphazard neatness on that side of the room, like the girl wanted a setup where she knew where stuff was, but was absolutely baffling to everyone else. The girl was lying on her back, her head against the pillow, and looked up when she heard someone was entering the room.

Setting her book down, the girl stood up and held out a hand to Connie as she walked in. "Kristin Chambers," the brown-haired girl said, smiling and nodding to both Connie and her mother, then her father when Wallace entered the room behind them.

"Connie Evans," Connie said, smiling and shaking hands. As far as first impressions went, Kristin Chambers was doing fine. It looked like things might go pretty well this year.

Suddenly Kristin's eyes got wider. "_Evans_? Hey, are _you_ related to-"

"Mom, Dad- is this where we're taking Connie's stuff?" Mark stopped outside in the hallway, Henry close behind them. Both towering adolescent's arms bulged as they hefted the two duffel bags each, but it was clear neither of them was under any strain. They looked inside the room expectantly, and instantly Kristin's green eyes grew as huge as dinner plates. Connie saw her new roommate's head turn to the door, saw the girl's eyes run up and down the gray and dark green t-shirts Henry and Mark were wearing- one size too small as always to make sure their muscular frames were outlined beautifully- and then go straight to their biceps, which radiated power and made Kristin's arms look like twigs. Connie could see the admiring glance she gave them, and wanted to groan when Kristin's jaw literally dropped.

"Oh, my gosh!" Kristin exclaimed, suddenly vastly more interested in the family that she was meeting here today. "You're the Evans family?"

"Yes," Susan said with a modest smile, "That would be us. I guess you've heard about my wonderful boys, then? They co-captain the Varsity football and hockey teams at school."

"Joshua L. Chamberlain High School," Kristin recited breathlessly, and it was clear she knew that and doubtless many other details of Mark and Henry's athletic careers by heart.

"Come on in, guys," Wallace said, turning to look at them. "This is Connie's room, all right."

"Uh, yeah," Kristin said, staring wide-eyed as the two muscular boys walked into the room, setting down the four bags on Connie's side and standing side-by-side. "Woah. You guys are tall."

The teenagers just grinned, exchanging glances; they could tell they had a fan.

"Hey," Kristin said excitedly, "You know I have a copy of that _Sports Illustrated _issue about you guys? Where you're on the front cover? I still have a copy from when that came out in '96!"

Without waiting to ask if anyone wanted to see it, Kristin sprinted across the room and pulled open a drawer at her desk, quickly finding the magazine and holding it up proudly. Sure enough, there were Henry and Mark Evans at fifteen years old, even then close to six feet in height. They were dressed in the blue-and-white colours of Chamberlain High School's hockey team, wearing their pads and skates, kneeling together on the center of an ice rink. It was a special shot, done after the group photo of the Varsity hockey team following their big win at the state championship game in Portland itself. The seniors on the team had been a little irked that the folks from _Sports Illustrated_ had been more interested in the freshman Evans brothers than them, but it made sense.

Everybody on the team knew they could not have taken the state champions title without them. Besides, Robert Warren, the hockey team captain in '95-'96, had been so thrilled at Henry and Mark's success that he'd personally arranged to have a party thrown in their honour the minute his folks were out of town for the weekend in May. The glory Henry and Mark had brought the Chamberlain High hockey team had made all of the team's members look good, and every senior on the hockey team who wanted a scholarship in college soon found he was going to get one.

Robert had found it a little odd that neither of the brothers had wanted to have a few drinks, or even have a hit on the bong- every other freshman or sophomore Robert had ever invited just about went crazy with that stuff, thrilled beyond words at being invited to party with the "big boys". But they'd certainly wanted to get friendly with the girls- more than a couple of the juniors and seniors did double-takes upon seeing Henry and Mark each slip off to a darker area of the house for some "private time" with one senior cheerleader each. They soon after became renowned just for that success alone, quickly rising to be the legends in their own time for more than just their success on the team.

"How much can you guys lift? Do you work out every day? Can I feel your arms?" Kristin was staring between Mark and Henry with a wide-eyed, awed expression, clearly star-struck by the fact that she was even meeting them.

Mark and Henry both grinned, and sure enough Mark leaned down and bent his arm at the elbow. Kristin reached cautiously out and set a hand on the auburn-haired teen's arm; her eyes widened when she felt the powerful muscles, clearly only exercising a fraction of their strength. "Wow!" she said, almost whispering it.

Connie was a few seconds away from literally banging her head into the wall. This was like Candace, Emily and Sheila all over again.

Wallace cleared his throat after a few moments, though, and Connie could hardly have been more grateful when she saw Kristin had broken out of her trance- briefly. "I think we'd better get going," Wallace said politely. "We've got a long drive ahead of us." Glancing at Kristin, he asked, "Where are you from, Kristin? Mostly folks have just heard of our boys in New England."

"So far," Susan smiled, and the brothers laughed.

"New Hampshire," Kristin breathed, staring again at Mark's chest. It could have been sculpted from stone. Like one of those statues of Greek gods you saw in history books.

Susan moved forward and knelt to hug her daughter, who was again starting to glare at her brothers as their presence continued to awe her new roommate. "Good luck and study hard, Connie," Susan said, embracing her. "You're gonna do great here."

"Thanks, Mom," Connie said, moved in spite of herself. "I think I will."

"You sure you'll do all right without us?" Wallace asked jokingly as he scooped Connie up in a hug. "Still room in the car if you wanna change your mind."

"I'll be fine, Dad," Connie smiled, hugging her father back as he put her down. Finally, Susan bent over and kissed Connie on the forehead, causing her to blush pink. "Mom!" Connie fussed, but Susan just laughed. "She's your roommate, Connie, I'm sure she understands."

Truth be told it wasn't her roommate Connie was concerned about. Mark and Henry might not ever let her forget about this one. Not as long as it suited them to remember it.

Wallace and Susan finally turned and headed for the door, starting their way down the hall to the stairwell. Mark and Henry began to follow, but then Kristin remembered the copy of _Sports Illustrated _she had in her hands.

There was a whole set of photos of them in their athletic outfits, in their gym uniforms… and one of the brothers in the locker room after a game, towels around their necks and nothing on them but some shorts as they headed for the shower. There were some other guys on the team in those shots, but the focus was clearly on the Evans brothers. And why not? They were the hottest boys on the team, not to mention the star players.

"Hey!" Kristin called, following as the Evans brothers started heading for the door. She dashed back to her desk and grabbed a Sharpie pen out of a drawer. "W-w-will you guys sign this?" She held up the magazine, eyes pleading.

Mark shrugged after a moment. "Why not?" he said, and Henry nodded. "Anything for Connie's roommate."

Connie wanted to throw them out the window, save for the fact that she knew that was impossible. It was like trying to lift up an oak tree. But she wished right now she had the strength to do it; these two were beyond insufferable. _Oh, great_, Connie grumbled silently. _Not even ten minutes into being at my new school, and my brothers are flirting with my roommate. Wow_.

The auburn-haired adolescent took the _Sports Illustrated_ magazine first, setting it down on what was now Connie's desk and signing his name in cursive right under his image on the front cover. Mark smiled at the memory of that year; between the sports and the sex- his first with a senior cheerleader, no less- freshman year had been absolutely amazing. Each year since had been progressively better. And in a true reversal of his old ways, Henry advanced through the social and athletic ranks alongside his brother, making great strides of his own in every way. It was unbelievable how admired- and desired- Henry was now, given how friendless he had been just five years ago.

"Here you are," Mark said, smiling as the other of the two towering Evans brothers came over to sign his name. "Why, thank you, Mark," Henry said with great courtesy, and signed his name with a flourish- just as some Hollywood actor would have done. He then turned around and handed the magazine to Kristin, who stared at their signatures- and at them- in almost incredible awe. "Wow," Kristin breathed, gaping at the signatures. "Thanks!"

"You're welcome," Henry said kindly. "Now, I think we _do_ need to be going," he said, looking at his father, who was patiently waiting out in the hallway.

Henry looked over at his sister, who was glaring at him, hoping he'd hurry up and go.

"See ya, squirt," Henry said, reaching over and ruffling Connie's hair affectionately. Mark patted her on the shoulder, and then they headed out the door and were gone.

_Squirt_? Connie wanted to kill them. And they'd made it sound so nice, too, like that was what Mark and Henry called her at home.

Once the brothers had headed out the door and Connie and her roommate were finally alone, Kristin threw her arms around Connie, squeezing the breath out of her.

"Oh, my God! Oh, my God!" she exclaimed, over and over, dancing a ring around the room. "I am _so_ lucky! Of _all_ the girls I coulda been roommates with, I get you! Mark and Henry Evans' _sister_! Oh, my God!"

Finally she stopped- or rather, slowed down a little- and flopped down at her bed, looking at Connie excitedly. "You _gotta_ tell me about 'em!"

Connie just sighed and sat down on her own bed. It was gonna be a long year.


	5. Chapter 5- The New Kid

**Chapter V- The New Kid**

* * *

Chris Marshall leaned back in the driver's seat of his 1985 Chevrolet Camaro, stretching out his tall, athletic frame as the car's engine cooled, slowly ticking in the quiet of the parking lot. He was at the local YMCA in Rockbridge, the closest one by far to Chamberlain High School and thus the one that a sizeable number of its athletes visited most often. Chris reached and brushed absentmindedly at his flaming red hair; it was cut short, looking something like a buzz cut grown out a little far. Red hair didn't quite run in the family- Chris' mother had dark brown hair and his father had black- but when it appeared, it certainly made itself known as Chris so clearly proved.

The Marshal family had moved into this very WASP-ish upper-class Portland suburb just a couple of weeks ago. George Marshal was a merchant sailor by profession, having served four years in the Merchant Marine before becoming a professional sailor in the employ of private businesses. Catlett-LeBay Shipping, one of a number of naval enterprises owned by the German multinational conglomerate Phoenix AG, had just a month ago seen fit to promote Chris' dad to the position of first mate on one of their best freighters registered in New England, The Servant. The freighter sailed out of Portland, hence their move here. Chris had spent much of his childhood moving from one port town to another, but the moves were relatively rare and the experience of living in each city stable. The good news was that it looked like Chris would be staying in the Portland area for a while yet. George Marshal's boss had indicated that much, and so far his sailing career had been about as stable as he could ask for.

With this in mind, Chris had dedicated his first week in Rockbridge, Maine to scoping out the social scene at his new high school. He was a new kid, going without the benefit of a lifetime of history with the big-shots at Chamberlain High. He had no history with them, no past- and if he played his cards wrong, no future. Chris had been a fairly popular boy at his past schools, always able to earn himself a fair group of friends. But he'd never really stepped into the limelight and become one of the big-shots. He wanted to do that for his senior year. He wanted to be truly known by his classmates now.

Chris knew he had the makings of what he wanted to be at Chamberlain. He wasn't as muscular as some of the boys he'd seen at school, but was far from thin- he could hold his own in the gym and had proved that before. Chris was generally consistent at making good first impressions, and had a real love for playing hockey. He'd been on the Varsity team at his old school in Maryland, in fact, so he was definitely thinking about trying out for the Varsity hockey team at Chamberlain and hopefully play for the spring season.

From his observations, meeting people and asking around in the past week, Chris had learned that two boys were the social center of Chamberlain High School. Nobody else even seemed to come close; when Chris had asked about the big-shot athletes, rich kids, popular boys in general, no matter who was mentioned, Henry and Mark Evans always topped the list. Chris had seen them a few times in the halls, in the cafeteria; he even shared AP Chemistry with Mark and English IV with Henry, though he'd kept a low profile and neither of the brothers seemed to have noticed him yet.

The red-haired boy had done well in determining who the most popular boys at school were. He'd learned the names and faces of John LaFleur, Jason Morgan, Anthony Summers and Paul Hendricks. Brittany Howell, Amy Philips, Lisa Doyle and a variety of other girls- mostly cheerleaders, athletes, or rich girls- topped the female list, and Chris had to admit they were all quite stunning to look at. He knew who the popular people were, and that the Evans brothers- towering over damn near everybody at well over six feet tall, each- were at the center of it. Knowing who was the social center at Chamberlain wasn't the problem for Chris. It was figuring out the best way of approaching them. They hadn't noticed him yet, but sooner or later they would- and Chris wanted to make sure it happened on his terms.

Another reason for Chris to start his first foray into Chamberlain High's social scene with talking to the Evans brothers was that both Henry and Mark were the stars of the Varsity hockey team. Given Chris' ambition of being on that team for the spring- even if he just got on as a reserve- it made even more sense to go straight for the most popular boys at the school. Chris was certain he wanted to get in good with those two; they looked like the kind of guys that could make things happen. If Chris made the right impression with them he'd go places at Chamberlain High. So the question was… how to approach them?

By asking around, Chris had learned that as part of maintaining their stunningly muscular frames- word had it there was hardly a fat cell in either boy's body- the Evans brothers engaged in some of the most intensive workouts anybody at Chamberlain had ever seen, and did so several times a week. They found time to do this on top of basically running two Varsity sports teams, plus attending advanced karate classes- Chris found it amazing either boy even had time to sleep. Somehow, though, they did that and much more.

So Chris had decided to drive by the YMCA tonight, not knowing for sure that the Evans brothers would be here Monday night, but figuring it was a good guess since they clearly worked out so often. And if they weren't here today, Chris could always come back tomorrow. He nodded to himself, fidgeting with the collar of his t-shirt for a moment before getting out and standing up. Reaching back inside to get his sports bag, Chris shut the Camaro's sea-green door and started heading for the YMCA's front doors. The weight room, he decided, would be a good place to start looking.

Sure enough, within five minutes of entering the main exercise room, Chris found them. There was a cluster of teenage boys, all in a variety of gym shorts and exercise shirts, gathered around a boxing ring at the far end of the room. A tall, muscular blonde boy was in the ring with another athlete, the boy with that wild-yet-casual brown haircut. Jason Morgan, the Varsity football team quarterback, Chris remembered. Jason seemed like the type of guy who took great pride in his appearance, enough that he probably spent more time in front of the mirror than some of his trophy girlfriends. He probably wasn't enjoying himself too much right now. The tall blonde was busy knocking him across the ring, and while Jason was straining to fight back and sweating hard, his nice haircut hanging in a sweaty mop, he didn't seem to be getting much back for his effort.

As Chris got closer, he noticed the tall, muscular boy was Henry Evans. Of course it was. Standing near the edge of the ring and cheering him on were a handful of boys- the black-haired Anthony Summers, John LaFleur with his bright dyed-blonde hair, and of course the towering, powerfully-built Mark Evans with his auburn locks.

Jason swore violently and took a swing at Henry, but that was the final straw- the move was slow and clumsy, a clear show of how disoriented he was. That certainly made sense; in his approach to this end of the room, Chris had more than once seen the star quarterback take lightning-fast blows to the head. Not in the face- Henry probably didn't want to break his friend's nose- but in the forehead, where a solid jab right where the brain was would easily knock an opponent off balance.

Chris saw it as if in slow motion. The jab Henry sent out, a left hook aimed to both knock away Jason's punch and strike him under the chin, was as powerful as it was swift. Instantly Jason Morgan jerked back as if shocked, staggering on his feet, and a swift follow-up punch to his chest by Henry knocked him down to the floor of the ring. Standing over him, Henry Evans held out one gloved hand, and Jason met it with one of his own, acknowledging his defeat.

Bowing and grinning at the cheers of his friends, Henry raised his gloved hands in triumph, the sleeveless exercise shirt he was wearing letting his powerful biceps shine under the overhead lights of the gym. "Thank you, thank you!" he said, as Jason sat up, panting hard, and blinked as he tried to reorient himself. Again.

"So who's next?" Henry asked with a grin, his cool blue eyes darting amongst the group. Though they tried hard not to show it, Chris could see right away there weren't many volunteers. Anthony Summers looked like he preferred any number of hockey practices to getting his ass kicked by Henry in the boxing ring. All of them did, actually. Well, except for Henry's brother, of course, who raised his hand. "I'll go next!"

The tall blonde- made all the taller by his standing in the elevated boxing ring- gave his brother a look. "Come on, Mark," he said, feigning great frustration. "You went twice already! It was a draw both times, too."

"So?" the auburn-haired teen said, shrugging. "Don't see anyone else volunteering," and at that he cast a glance at the friends gathered around him, who now had even more need to hide their reluctance to step into the ring with either of the towering, incredibly strong Evans brothers. You always lost, plain and simple. The brothers were damn strong, powerful and gifted fighters. Kicking people's asses was something they enjoyed. It wasn't worth it sparring with them, because neither brother had any sense of play. They fought to win, always. There were no practice rounds.

Right away, standing some fifteen feet back from the group but still unnoticed, Chris realised what he'd need to do if he was going to get noticed, make a good impression. It wouldn't be to hang around and watch, or to wander up and stand beside the other boys and spectate for a while. No, the Evans brothers most respected people who approached them directly. Guys with balls got respect from them, and nobody else. You had to prove you could handle your own shit before they'd even think about giving you a hand. The brave, direct route was the only one that would work here.

"I'll volunteer," Chris said, raising his hand and stepping forward to approach the boys at the ring.

Immediately they all turned, and Henry Evans stared calmly down at the newcomer, sizing him up. The other boys looked at him with a mixture of surprise, perhaps even respect- whoever this kid was, he had to be brave or crazy to walk up and say that. Maybe both.

"Dude," John LaFleur said as he crossed his arms, "Who the fuck _are_ you?"

"Chris Marshal," the redhead said simply. "Just started school at Chamberlain this week. I want to box against Henry."

All eyes turned to Henry, then, except for Mark, who kept his own blue eyes on the newcomer. He folded his bare arms over his impressive chest, and Chris had to admit the look was pretty intimidating. But he'd drawn attention to himself and couldn't back down now. He looked up at the blonde giant and awaited an answer.

Abruptly, Jason Morgan started chuckling, breaking the silence with his laughter as he stood up and ducked out of the ring. Shaking his head as he stripped off the red boxing gloves and threw them to Chris, the quarterback just kept laughing, looking at the newcomer with a mixture of amusement and genuine respect. "Hey, man," Jason laughed as he walked by on his way to the water fountain, "Knock yourself out." He chuckled at his own joke, secretly impressed with this new kid just for being so stupid- and at the same time hoping Henry would crush him like a bug under a cement truck. This new kid looked like he had some guts- well above the whining, cringing losers Jason beat up and 'borrowed' lunch money from every week or so. And a kid crazy enough to ask to box Henry Evans might do pretty well around here. If he lived.

"Well, get up here, then," Henry demanded, his indifference abruptly giving way to impatience. He could see his friends were impressed, even Mark- everyone wanted to see what was gonna happen here. Even Henry looked impressed, but Chris could tell he wasn't worried. Henry Evans didn't look like he worried about much of anything.

Setting down his sports bag by the side of the ring and taking the gloves in hand, Chris made himself lift up a couple of the ropes and climb up and into the ring. One look at Henry up close, one glance at those paving-slab pecks, powerful shoulders, and arms that looked thicker than most men's necks, and Chris felt real fear. His stomach was a churning, mutinous thing, and the "Oh, shit" feeling was not such a small voice anymore. It had been building steadily ever since he'd come into this room and spotted the group of athletes at a distance, but was almost screaming in his head now. "Oh, shit, oh, SHIT!"

Chris knew what was coming. He was by all odds not only going to lose, but to experience death by boxing like never before in his life. He'd only boxed a few times over the years, and one look at Henry said he was the one with both strength and experience in his favour tonight. So what did Chris Marshal have? Not much. Just the basic wisdom that said this was how he could make an impression- he could see on the boys' faces that he had done that already just by asking for a match with Henry- and the courage to go out and do it, even though he knew he was gonna lose, and lose bad. This was a daring act, one that took guts. Chris just hoped these guys would take notice of that. And of him.

As Chris stood up in the ring and began to slip the boxing gloves on, he looked up to see Henry eying him, a sly smirk on his face. Never taking his cold, predatory eyes off the new boy with the red hair, Henry Evans reached both hands over his shoulders and pulled the gray exercise shirt off, tossing it aside. Chris wasn't gay- he hadn't been with a girl just yet, but that didn't mean he liked boys by any means- but had he been, he would have said Henry Evans was the very definition of hot. Every inch of his torso was incredibly fit, powerful muscle decorating every inch of his frame. He could have modeled for any number of fashion agencies and probably made a decent living as a porn star on the side, had he not been a minor. Chris forced himself to take his eyes off Henry's body-builder's torso, making himself ignore the fact that he hadn't even thought a high school boy could even _have_ an eight-pack of abs.

Instead, Chris stopped in the middle of lacing on the gloves. He paused, setting them down for a moment, and stripped off his own shirt instead, doing so slowly and with great deliberation. Murmurs and laughs of surprise sounded from the boys watching; in spite of his racing fear, Chris felt good to hear that. If there had been any doubt that he'd impressed them before, it was gone now. Even Henry's handsome features warmed a little, and his lips curled upward to form a more genuine smile. Or maybe just the cold grimace of a hawk, anticipating a particularly juicy meal.

Finally, the gloves were on, Anthony Summers clanged the bell and the fight started. Chris raised his arms, holding his hands up to protect his face, and much to everyone's surprise managed to block the first shot Henry sent out- a jab at his forehead, to disorient Chris from the start. More sounds from the guys; they didn't think Chris would manage so well. The red-haired boy's luck didn't last long, though, because abruptly Henry slammed a gloved fist into the side of Chris's head. It had looked like he was coming in left, but then- WHAM!

Suddenly Chris was leaning against the ropes, facing outside the ring. Henry's blow had literally spun him around.

"You see that?" Henry asked, standing a couple feet behind him. "You see what happened there?"

"I'm pretty sure you hit me," Chris said, flippant in spite of his stunned and disoriented state.

John LaFleur guffawed outside the ring; this kid had a sense of humor even on the gallows. That was… admirable. And it was nice to know he wasn't going to be asked to do the suicidal again this particular Monday evening. Once boxing Henry or Mark in a night at the gym was enough.

But Henry just said, "No, no! I feinted! Easiest trick in the book!"

"You fainted?" Chris breathed, forcing himself off the ropes and turning to face his opponent. "We'll get there in a minute."

He took a swing at Henry then, sending out a quick shot that Henry immediately blocked and reeled back in his face. Chris' head snapped back and for a moment he saw stars. Instantly, though, Chris forced himself back on the offensive; he blocked and counterattacked, blocked and counterattacked, not even noticing that his nose had just taken a near-direct hit and blood was flowing down his face.

"Ah, now you're learning!" Henry said cheerfully, and it disheartened Chris a little to know his efforts hadn't even worried the blonde giant yet. He shifted between aiming for Henry's chest- which was like punching a wall even if he did manage to make contact- and directed his blows towards Henry's midsection.

WHAM! Chris suddenly saw stars again, staggering back across the ring. What-what the hell was that? Henry called it a feint, maybe, but to Chris it looked like the blonde athlete had blurred his image, jerking from standing in one spot to another in a seconds' time. It was almost too fast to even keep track of.

Henry advanced as Chris retreated, smiling broadly. "Don't look at my hands," Henry said, as he spotted Chris assuming a defensive stance and eying his opponent's gloves. "Look at my shoulders!" Henry thumped a gloved hand on one broad shoulder for emphasis. "That's where the hits are comin' from!"

Chris tried that, but he still took a punch right in his left cheekbone.

"Don't you remember how Rocky beat that big Russian fucker?" Henry asked, dancing back and forth on his feet now as he pushed Chris steadily back across the ring. "You know, _Rocky IV_ or _V _or whatever? Don't you remember that?"

"I don't even remember what day of the week it is," Chris said, noticing for the first time how hard he was sweating. His heart was pounding away in his chest. This fight could have been going on for two minutes or two hours, but Chris had no idea whatsoever.

"You know," Henry said reflectively, "It used to be every fight went to a knockout. You know what it feels like to be knocked out?"

"Hold still and I'll show you," Chris blurted.

Henry just laughed, striking out again and again, steadily wearing down Chris and his ability to block the attacks as they came in. Abruptly Chris staggered on his feet, seemed to totter- Henry grinned and lowered his fists slightly.

Chris lunged forward and threw all the strength he had left into one left-handed punch. He was meaning to catch Henry off guard, punch him right in the middle of his handsome, perfect face- but instead he just caught Henry under the chin. The tall blonde grunted in surprise, taking a step back. He brought his hands up to block the next attack, intending to lash out with a knockout blow. Instead, Henry just stepped back and moved out of the way, looking at Chris oddly as the red-haired boy took one more step forward, then fell over and passed out.

"Dude," Anthony whispered to a wide-eyed John LaFleur while Mark climbed into the ring and Jason Morgan watched from nearby, "I am so glad that isn't me."

"Holy shit, man, he really fuckin' did it," John said, shaking his head in amazement. "Holy shit."

Chris woke up perhaps five minutes later. Somebody was gently slapping his face. He opened his eyes and saw the Evans brothers crouched over him.

"Uh," Chris asked slowly, "Wh-who won?"

"Me," Henry said, and the two brothers laughed. They thought Chris's answer was very funny.

"Hey, man," Henry said without preamble, "That was some crazy shit you pulled. Not a bad fight, either. You got some guts, dude."

"Talk to us sometime at school," Mark suggested. "Maybe you can hang out with us sometime. Sound good?"

"Sounds fine…" Chris said faintly, still lying flat on his back. God, did his body ache…

Henry grinned at that, and so did his brother. "You fight okay, new guy," Henry said. "I'd stick around to talk, but Mark and I got a karate lesson to get to with John here." With that, the blonde stood up and ducked out of the ring, picking his shirt back up as he took off the boxing gloves.

"See you at school," the auburn-haired of the two brothers said, eying the prone Chris with frank speculation and interest. He was always revising his list of who to invite to the next upcoming party. Chris might be as game a partier as he was a boxer. Might be worth it to see.

For his part, Chris didn't really care about much of anything at the moment. The only thing that didn't throb with pain was his balls- and Chris was thankful for that, because the aching elsewhere was plenty bad enough. His arms, his legs, his chest and head- how had he managed to wear himself out that bad in just one fight?

Oh, yeah. He'd fought Henry Evans.

Chris took a full two minutes to sit up, and another ten to finally get up and off the boxing ring floor. He moved slowly, like an old man, and was not especially surprised to find Henry and Mark and their friends had already gone. They were impressed- but not that impressed. Chris needed to pick himself up- maybe that was one final part of the test he'd put himself through tonight. Showing he could not only lose gallantly against a boy who never lost, but pick himself up afterwards. Chris finally stood, finding his shirt and sports bag again. He limped out to his car, and didn't get back home until seven-thirty. And while for that whole night and the day after his body glowed with pain, Chris went home with a slight smile on his face. He had a feeling he'd done what he'd aimed to do tonight- he'd gotten the Evans brothers' attention, made a good first impression and done pretty good in his first boxing match in a year.

And Chris knew he'd been right in his observations about Henry and Mark Evans. Impressing them, if he had indeed done that tonight, might not only mean getting his chance to play hockey this spring, but also a chance at really stepping out into the social limelight at last. If he had managed to do all that tonight simply through doing his utmost to not get his ass kicked, Chris knew it wouldn't matter if he'd lost badly anyway. If he'd impressed the Evans brothers, it was all worth it.

The advanced class that karate expert Le Minh Dao- formerly of the South Vietnamese army's Rangers- held starting at 7:45pm Monday and Wednesday nights was just that; an advanced class, for students of brown belt or black belt rank. It was a highly demanding class, one that only the best of Dao's students could hope to join in the first place, let alone actually pass. As usual, the class was mostly a set of some fourteen, all of them younger students, high school or college age mostly. Every last one of them ranked as at least a brown belt; you had a lot of progress to make in the world of martial arts before even being considered for as advanced a class as this one.

The class placed a considerable amount of value on independent thinking and action. The Sensei, Dao, stepped in only when it appeared necessary- if something was getting out of hand, which was rare given that these were his most disciplined students, or if a particular lesson or demonstration needed to be made. At present, Dao walked in silence as they sparred on the mats placed about the room, or practiced against dummies or other static targets. He watched three of his boys with particular interest, thinking about the impressive progress they had made since coming here a few years ago.

It was phenomenal, really, how tall and strong the three had become. Mark and Henry Evans were two of Dao's finest students, and not just in their class or out of all the classes Dao was teaching at his dojo- the Evans brothers were quite possibly the best students he'd ever had. Their friend, John LaFleur, was close behind them- he ranked as a brown belt while the Evans boys were each second-degree black belts, one rank below Sensei Dao himself- but he just wasn't as good as the brothers. That was no disgrace, however, no failing- Dao had never seen a pair of teenagers as good as Henry and Mark Evans. Not in all his years teaching these classes had he come across such gifted students, such quick learners. The Evans brothers had come in here as green belts when they were maybe thirteen years old, progressing rapidly from there as the years went by. They were now by far the best students in the dojo, and well deserving of their place in this highly advanced class.

The Evans brothers had even gone to a number of martial arts tournaments at their Sensei's suggestion, winning every one they participated in without exception. Their skill and perseverance reflected great credit, both on themselves and their teacher. Le Minh Dao was proud to call them his students.

But they weren't gentle. Henry and Mark were strong and swift seventeen-year-old boys, gifted with an incredibly balanced combination of physical strength and agility. They were some of the best students Dao had ever heard of- and the youngest he'd ever seen do so well. All that was very true- but so was the fact that neither Mark nor Henry seemed to have any idea what "sparring" or "practice" meant. Watching them now, Dao could see confirmation- not that he needed it by now- of what he'd earlier observed. The Evans brothers fought to win, always, and seemed to see any contest, no matter how trivial, as pointless and stupid if they weren't supposed to fight for victory with everything they had.

Dao knew that some would surely counter that there wasn't necessarily anything wrong with that. Hadn't many people climbed to great heights by holding such an attitude? Powerful ambition and an unbreakable will to win was something that had driven many to the top. But while Napoleon may have done Europe much good through his conquering, spreading the ideas and ideals of the French Revolution across a stagnant and monarchy-dominated Europe, he was still a conqueror. Alexander the Great, Napoleon, Stalin and Adolf Hitler- their names and dozens more had been made famous by minds of iron, wills of steel, and a total lacking of any sense of "play". Just like Henry and Mark.

But people who would argue that Henry and Mark Evans' drive and ambition wasn't such a bad thing hadn't seen them at the moments Dao had. He was proud of them- nothing could take away from that- but he also wished they wouldn't be such harsh opponents. As much as Dao tried to ignore it, to tell himself he was just seeing things in his growing age and that his best students weren't as he supposed, he'd witnessed too many "incidents" for it to all be a mistake. Henry and Mark Evans were indeed some of the best students he'd ever known, but they were also some of the cruelest.

Dao had been there at each of their tournaments. He'd seen the hard, tense look on their faces as they fought through each round- that total commitment to winning, whatever the cost was. And the price never seemed especially high for Henry and Mark, especially since they only lost in sparring matches with each other. Dao remembered a year ago when Mark Evans had won his fifth tournament, almost matching Henry's six. The other boy had been a skilled fighter, brave and capable, but by the final round he was visibly scared of Mark.

He kept making mistakes that were clearly caused by fear, and that turned out to be quite justified; Dao remembered all too well the scream the other boy had made when his and Mark's leg had interlocked and Mark threw him to the mat with one powerful leg alone. Dao didn't remember just what had happened to that boy, except that he'd been gasping in pain, clutching his knee and shutting his eyes against the tears of agony forcing their way out of his eyes. And Dao sometimes wondered, when he remembered things like that, if he hadn't somehow done the wrong thing by teaching these ruthless boys so much. He remembered well how Mark had stood over his defeated opponent, not worried or concerned- but with a cold look of contempt, of hate, visible in his eyes. It wasn't the first time he'd done that, and it probably wouldn't be the last. Dao wondered again what these boys were going to do with their lives- and how many boys' knees they would try to shatter before their stories were written at last.

**XX**

John LaFleur stood with his arms crossed near a sparring mat, off to one side of the dojo as the various students in the class practiced and sparred. He was observing for now, much as he had done at the gym. He'd done his match with Henry and Mark there and here, losing but at least not getting knocked out either time. Sometimes John had a feeling the Evans brothers were taking it easy on him because they liked him- but if that was so, John had no complaints. He'd seen hints of what they could do if they didn't like you, and the circumstances John knew now were by far preferable to that.

Right now, dressed in their white uniforms and dueling fiercely on the mat, Henry and Mark were engaging each other with an intensity that would have injured lesser boys by now. They always fought their toughest matches against each other- John had seen how Mark and Henry seemed to be each other's only real challenger in damn near anything. They held nothing back in their matches against each other, knowing they could both take it and enjoying the chance to give it all they had immensely. They were sweating, breathing hard as they fought, and grinning the whole time.

John remembered how he'd gotten here- how he was good enough himself to be included in this class, and regarded as worthy enough to be among the closest of Mark and Henry's friends. It had started with one key event, as these big changes so often did. John had nearly coughed up a lung after Henry had struck him suddenly and unexpectedly with that full-contact kick. It had hurt, and nearly sent him flying clear across the room. Henry remembered how their old Sensei had demanded to know what was going on, and the fear John had felt when he'd looked at Henry Evans and seen the order in his eyes- an order not to say anything. At all.

So John had made his excuses, saying he'd actually asked Henry to do it. He spoke slowly, as if unsure, but it probably looked like he was just stunned from the blow he'd just taken- which, to be fair, he was. Henry had stared at him coldly for a few moments, but when the Sensei had accepted John's answer he'd moved away without a word.

At the next lesson, the boy's brother- John had never known Henry even had one until he'd suddenly shown up in the spring of 1994- approached him while Henry was busy kicking some poor Chinese boy's ass. Mark explained what had happened last class- Henry's full-force kick hadn't just been some impulsive, pointless act. It had, on the contrary, been something planned out in advance. He hadn't told Mark about it because he wanted no chance for John to find out and have his reaction decided ahead of time. The kick John had taken from Henry had been a test, Mark said, and with a smile he informed John that he had passed.

The LaFleur boy had been wary of this at first; he'd seen that cold look in Henry's eyes, and how his brother almost gleefully took to dropping others to the mat and causing them a fair bit of pain if he could. John hadn't known what to think about Mark- he knew next to nothing about him at that time- but he knew what he thought of Henry. The blonde was cold and ruthless in the extreme, and despite being a skilled member of the soccer team had almost been openly contemptuous of the very idea of having friends. And then there was that one incident… John couldn't quite remember the kid's name, but he did remember what had happened- how after practice one day he'd almost walked in on Henry and another kid on the team. Henry had the boy's shorts down around his ankle, gripping the trembling kid's privates in one hand and a deadly-looking knife in the other. "If you move…" John had heard Henry say, "I'll cut your fuckin' balls off before you even figure out what they're for."

It made John shiver to think about that even today. "Creepy Henry" had gotten that name for a reason, and when you thought about some of the things Henry had done- or been said to do- 'creepy' was a _very_ tame word.

But Mark hadn't said anything about that. He'd just complimented John on passing Henry's little test, and Henry had soon after come over to say he was willing to teach John some of what he knew in martial arts. John had been amazed to even hear that- Henry had quite literally told him to fuck off the last time John had asked, and then here he was, smiling warmly and extending his own compliments to the other boy for being tough enough for his standards. And true to his word, Henry did begin working with John during class, Mark pitching in and helping as well. The Evans brothers took to training and helping John regularly- never again was he subjected to a full-force strike without being warned first. John's standing in class advanced steadily, and he cautiously started thinking of the Evans brothers as his friends.

They certainly had seemed to agree, and invited John over to their house for the first time two weeks later. By the close of the school year in June he was hanging out over there regularly, and had truly enjoyed himself each time. Mark and Henry were ruthless fighters, but they also had a brilliant sense of imagination, and always seemed to be able to think of something to do. They'd helped John not only advance in karate class, but to confront some of his oldest fears and hesitations. Henry had shown John what it was like to stare into the face of Death and make _him_ blink, challenging John with such tests as staring down an approaching train- stepping onto the tracks once the locomotive was too close for the engineer to see him- and then jumping away at the last second. He'd stood with John and Mark on the very edge of a range of cliffs ten minutes from the Evans house. John never forgot how he asked Henry why they were doing this, why they were standing there at the edge of a cliff with their arms extended to either side and their eyes closed against the wind. Henry had said simply, "Because it's a great feeling."

Mark, on the other hand, had proved a daredevil in his own ways. He started helping John with talking to girls at school, giving him helpful tips and even introducing him to a few girls John hadn't met before. He also told John about how you needed to know how to throw out the rules sometimes. If nothing else you had to have the ability to do it, because living your whole life "by the book" just wasn't worth it. "Trust me," Mark had said. "I know." As hesitant as John had been, at Mark's encouragement- with Henry watching nearby- at thirteen he'd smoked his first cigarette. He'd never picked it up as a habit like Mark and Henry so clearly had- how they'd kept up with that so steadily over the years and still played two Varsity sports was a mystery to John- but it was something he was glad to put behind him. He knew what it was like now.

In fact, John had felt so generously treated by Mark and Henry that he began to feel the need to do something for them in return. They were all on one of the local soccer teams together; Henry was on offense with Mark and John being two of the midfielders. Months after that incident in karate class, John was supporting Henry and Mark as the star offensive players of the team. They were a powerhouse on offense, and the Ravens went undefeated the summer after Henry, Mark and John's 7th grade year. It was the best season they'd had in years.

This great accomplishment did have a downside, however. John remembered that for Mark to move up and join his brother on offense, somebody else had to move back. That someone had ended up being Scott Shepherd, and he did not take it well when he learned he was being replaced as left wing by Mark Evans. Scott was a midfielder after that, and bore a grudge against the Evans brothers for stealing his star playing position and any glory he might have had on the team. John tried to make things right, attempted to bring Scott along when he went to hang out with the Evans brothers, but Scott had flatly refused each time. After a while John quit asking, and he and Scott had slowly but steadily drifted apart over the years.

After taking the Ravens to another outstanding undefeated season the summer following their eighth grade year, Mark and Henry had begun discussing joining a different team next year. Soccer was too tame, Henry said. He wanted to be able to make contact- cause some pain. Mark agreed, and when they'd turned to John, the boy with the dyed-blonde hair- he'd gotten the idea late in the eighth grade- hadn't objected. Why not? Hockey and football, the sports the Evans brothers were now looking at for freshman year of high school, were generally more prestigious sports in Maine anyway. Everybody knew the most popular guys at the local high schools were the football and hockey players- a fair number of whom were members of both teams. So John had tried out for the football team in the fall, and the hockey team in the spring, just as the Evans brothers had. They'd fallen short of their aim of an undefeated football season- the final game was a loss after Henry got into a shouting match with one of the refs, who was certain Henry had broken the leg of the rival team's quarterback on purpose. When Henry had finally left the field, jerking his helmet off and looking truly pissed, Mark had removed his helmet and walked off the field without a word. He wasn't about to play without his brother.

Hockey, on the other hand, had gone far better. John played a few times that season, on the Varsity team but as a reserve. He watched some games and played in others, sharing in the amazement of the upperclassmen at the speed, skill, and seemingly inexhaustible supply of energy the Evans brothers had to draw on in a game. They were freshmen but could have passed for seniors, close to six feet in height even then and some of the most muscular boys on the team. John had been thrilled beyond words at the victories they'd experienced on the ice, but what he loved most was how Henry and Mark had swiftly become two of the most popular boys at Chamberlain High School.

John, as Henry's first real friend, shared in the glory. He had partied harder than he'd ever thought possible, getting his first drink, his first cigar, and his first time with a girl all in the same whirlwind of adrenaline and glory that was freshman year. John had never in his life imagined that school would ever be so much fun. Things had only gotten better from 9th grade, to the point where by sophomore year the Evans brothers basically dominated the school.

They rewarded generously the guys who stayed loyal to them, and John was nothing if not loyal. Every time he'd brought Cindy home this summer, his balls throbbing so badly he could barely walk, John was thankful he'd met the Evans brothers. They'd given him everything he'd ever wanted- unshakable self-confidence, popularity, athletic greatness… he owed them a lot. John LaFleur was just thankful Henry had taken John's fear of him all those years ago, when he'd refused to admit to the Sensei that the full-contact kick had been a surprise, for toughness. He had seen how Henry- and Mark- treated the weak.


	6. Chapter 6- Reminiscences

**Chapter VI- Reminiscences**

* * *

The night of Saturday, September 22nd was an especially quiet one at the Evans house. Nights like this, when quite literally everybody but Susan was out, were rare. But the fact that they happened at all was remarkable, and said a lot about how much things had changed over the years. Connie was off at boarding school, attending Chatham Hall down in Virginia now. Wallace was at a shareholder's meeting- a prime topic of discussion was the new Plymouth Prowler- and Henry and Mark were out. Sometimes they had karate lessons or errands to run, other nights they were out with friends- Susan understood how independent her boys were. It was enough to say they were out, and leave it at that.

Some parents might have insisted on knowing where their boys were, especially later in the day on a Saturday. The fact that Henry and Mark were towering, handsome athletes and some of the most popular boys in school would have only been more reason for some parents to distrust them. How could you let such sought-after boys just drive around on the weekends- many times just getting in their cars and driving somewhere, without any specific destination mentioned at all? Let them essentially do as they pleased, and it was only a matter of time before they got into trouble.

The saying went that no father could have a greater curse than being given a beautiful daughter. Having a handsome, popular son had to be a close second- or at least had the potential to be. Susan had patiently listened to words of caution from some of her friends over the years, the other mothers who Susan knew were just green with envy at how lucky the Evans family had been. In their words of advice Susan knew she could hear hints of jealousy; a feeling, perhaps, that Henry and Mark were too successful. They should've gotten busted for smoking a joint by now, or drinking at a party. By all logic, for all the girlfriends everybody knew Henry and Mark had gone through since freshman year, one of the brothers should have gotten some pretty cheerleader pregnant by now. Something should have gone wrong by now, anything- and in particular, Susan and Wallace letting their boys drive around like this on a Saturday night should have been a recipe for disaster.

But that hadn't happened. Everything had gone just fine. Susan heard her friends say it with such conviction: Oh, just wait until they hit high school. Junior high's just playtime. First it'll be a few cigarettes in their bedrooms, and next thing you know they'll be shooting God knows what in their arms and doing the big It with their cheerleader girlfriends. Susan had heard all that, patiently listened and nodded. She didn't blame any of her friends for saying those things.

After all, many of those things had happened to them, and they were warning Susan because they knew nobody could be so lucky forever. Susan had to admit that she took a certain pleasure in knowing she was the subject of such envy. To her, it was only fair that her family was enjoying such good fortune. After losing Richard, Janice and Jack, the Evans family deserved to be happy for once. Wallace and Susan had steadily granted their towering sons more independence each year, and as far as Susan was concerned, if something had been destined to go wrong, it would have by now. But truth be told, Susan had never worried much. She knew Mark and Henry were serious when they said they never drank or did any drugs at those parties they sometimes went to. They were clearly careful with girls- Susan wasn't a grandmother yet- and while Mark and Henry did have their habit with cigarettes, they never smoked in or even near the house. And neither Mark nor Henry were habitual smokers- how could they be, when they worked out regularly and played on two Varsity teams?

Henry and Mark didn't need to justify themselves to Susan at this point. If they wanted to drive around once in a while, that was fine. Susan knew she could trust them. They were always honest and straightforward whenever she asked any questions about their activities after school, and never disrespected or argued with her or with Wallace. Henry and Mark were good, trustworthy boys, and trusting them enough to let them drive around on a Saturday evening was not a problem for Susan.

Susan decided she might as well pass the time until her husband and her boys got back, and the first thing that came to mind was doing the laundry. She headed upstairs with a large basket, emptying Mark and Henry's hampers into it and starting downstairs. She had already brought her and Wallace's clothes downstairs to the basement earlier today, so this was the last trip she needed to make.

As she made her way down the stairs and reached the first floor, Susan happened to glance left into the living room, where she spotted the family portrait hanging on the wall above the fireplace. It was not a photograph, but an actual painting done at great expense by one of Portland's finest artists.

When Wallace Evans had married Susan Whitmore in 1980, he had become a part of one of New England's oldest families. The Whitmore family had lived in Maine since it had been a British colony, and old New England families like theirs did not have pictures taken. By tradition, the Whitmore family had portraits done, both group ones and of individuals at key points through their childhood and adult years. This tradition ran strong among the various branches of the family- even those who, through female descendants like Susan, married into other lines and acquired new names. The Evans family itself was not from Maine, but Wallace, out of love for his new wife, had moved to join her there and made the traditions of the Whitmores part of his new family.

Wallace, Susan, and their three children were gathered together and looked truly wonderful, just as a family should. Connie was bright and cheery even in the painting, much as she always was. Henry and Mark, standing behind where Wallace and Susan were sitting, looked quite handsome standing side by side. They had been adamant about that; Mark and Henry always were when it came to the other. Susan remembered how this painting was actually some four years old; it had been done in April 1994, a few months after Mark had come to live with his aunt, uncle and two cousins.

It had been Henry's idea to have another portrait done, one that included Mark. He talked reasonably and passionately with his mother, explaining how much he could tell Mark liked being with his new family, but that he still felt new and out of place. A portrait that included him, Henry had said, would doubtless do a great deal to make Mark feel like he was welcome and truly a part of his new home. Couldn't they have another family portrait done?

The only problem was that the family already had one. It had been done in 1991, a year after Richard had been born, and still hung in the living room. Susan had really been conflicted over that one. She was slowly- very slowly- beginning to put losing Richard behind her, but the pain of losing that wonderful little boy was still quite vivid for Susan. She felt a strong need to honour his memory, and her attachment to the old family portrait had only grown stronger when Mark had finally moved into Richard's old room, a short distance down the hall from where Henry stayed. That argument had finally been won in June 1994, when Susan at last gave in to Wallace's gentle but firm insistence that she and him steadily begin putting Richard in the past, and focusing on the three children they still had with them in the present. Richard's things were placed in a special corner of the attic, carefully stored and routinely dusted off. It pained Susan, but she knew that was how it needed to be.

Henry's idea for a new family portrait had gained support for the same reasons. Wallace liked the idea- it was indeed a great way of showing Mark that he was part of the family now, and getting everyone used to the fact that they now had two sons in the house. Susan finally gave in after thinking about what a wonderful boy Mark had always been, and how, her missing Richard aside, Susan really did want Mark to feel welcome here. The new portrait had been done accordingly that summer, and the old one now hung in a guest bedroom upstairs.

Susan turned and continued through the living room, heading down the hall on the other side and down the stairs to the basement. She knew she shouldn't be thankful, per se, that Mark had come to live with them. After all, he had lost both his parents in a short amount of time, barely more than a year apart. It was a wonder Mark hadn't gone mad with grief or done something extreme, blaming himself for his parents' deaths. Mark never spoke of either of his parents again after 1994, and Henry quietly made it clear to his parents- who most certainly understood- that the subject was so painful to Mark that it should never be brought up.

All that was very true; Susan knew she shouldn't insult Jack and Janice's memory by being thankful, at least in a selfish way, that Mark had come to live with them. Even so… she couldn't quite help it. Mark was just such a wonderful boy. Susan remembered how close to the brink Mark had come when Jack had died. He'd refused to eat for more than two days, and when Henry had found out about it he'd started starving himself too. Susan found that gesture both alarming and touching; it spoke volumes about how close the boys were, more than words ever could. But Mark had come back from the edge with surprising speed; within the first few months of his moving to Maine, the auburn-haired boy, just turned thirteen, had become lively and cheerful again. What Susan loved as much as anything as how the energetic, outgoing Mark had turned Henry's life around. He had really brought his brother out of his shell.

Henry had begun to really be able to relate to the other kids in his class for the first time, and Mark was from the start his closest friend and constant companion. For all the friends Henry had started to make, he always remained intensely loyal to Mark. The two were as thick as thieves, just as the saying went, and about as secretive. They were always up to something, and Susan accepted after a while that they were just boys being boys, and before long learned to accept that.

Mark had truly been a blessing for all of them. Susan was grateful to have him as her son- and thankful that Mark's life had not needed to know any more tragedy than it already had. The Evans family had lost three good members in just one decade- all of it due to tragedies that just didn't seem to make any sense at all. But things were looking much, much better these days. It was something Susan was truly thankful for.

Remembering what tall, muscular athletes they were today, Susan was surprised whenever she looked at pictures of Henry and Mark at twelve or thirteen years old. They had been such small boys then! Growing, yes, and building a little muscle every day with that set of weights they clamored for, but small nonetheless. They were huge now, each weighing over three hundred pounds- and nearly all of it was muscle.

Passing by the weight room Henry and Mark had set up in the basement, Susan paused briefly to look over its machines, weights and wall-mounted mirrors.

_So much for those two being small_, Susan thought, smiling and continuing on to the washer and dryer.

Mark and Henry had really started hitting their first real growth spurt after they got their first set of weights. As their muscles grew, so did their height- not to mention their appetites. The two teenage boys had started outgrowing their clothes every few months, height and an increasingly-muscular build combining to have the local clothes shops knowing Susan and Wallace on a first-name basis. Henry and Mark had swiftly become fit, impressively strong boys, and for the first time Susan had found herself truly thankful the Evans family was never lacking for money.

Susan tended to shy away from using the words "rich" or "wealthy", but had they been anything less, between the clothes changes and their appetites Mark and Henry probably would have eaten them out of house and home! By the time they were fourteen both boys were an absolutely stunning six feet tall; they could easily have passed for juniors and were often mistaken for seniors. By the end of freshman year Henry and Mark were typically treated as if they were seniors anyway; by their sophomore year that was a rule. Henry and Mark Evans had earned the respect of their peers. Their immense wealth, towering height, incredible physiques, stunning athletic skill and personal charm were more than most actual upperclassmen had, and were more than enough to make them big-shots at Chamberlain High from their first year there. Susan couldn't help but marvel at her sons' talent and ability; Henry and Mark were showing more potential in their teenage years than many people did in their whole lives.

_How did it happen_? Susan wondered, marveling at the size of one of Mark's t-shirts and then one of Henry's as she took them out of the basket and held each of them up. They both wore custom-made clothes almost exclusively now; none of the ordinary stores carried their sizes. Henry and Mark both wore XXX-L-sized shirts, but it wasn't because they were fat. It was because their arms, shoulders and chests just didn't have enough room in anything else. The whole thing was quite baffling when you thought about it. Looking like they'd been taken from a Greek or Roman painting where the women were always beautiful and the men always flawless and strong, Henry and Mark were taller and bulkier than anybody in the Evans line Susan could think of. They hadn't had anybody especially tall before; the Evans family was generally a fairly average-height lot. Henry and Mark were the first truly tall people in their family.

Susan sorted through the laundry and put the next load in, taking a minute to move some of her and Wallace's clothes to the dryer first. Once both machines were running, Susan headed back upstairs. She was actually glad her boys had both grown so big- it was a great help to them, enjoying sports as much as they did. It seemed like the whole house, tall and sturdy as it was, shook when one of them hit the wall when they were sparring down in the basement. It was a good thing the house's foundations were its strongest point.

Sitting down on a couch in the silent living room, Susan looked up at the mantelpiece. Beneath the family portrait, over a dozen football, hockey and karate tournament trophies competed for attention, threatening to make the whole mantelpiece collapse under their collective weight. Susan remembered their great victory in the state championship hockey game their freshman year, the football season in which they'd nearly gone undefeated as freshmen- and a karate tournament Henry had won, taking on an eighteen-year-old, third-degree black belt- at the age of fifteen.

The house was too quiet, Susan suddenly noticed. She felt lonely with her husband, her daughter and her wonderful, darling boys gone. Susan knew the years had passed better than she would have dared ask for, but it still was startling to think of how fast everything had happened. Mark and Henry were getting older now- they'd be flying the coop soon, headed off to college and whatever was next in their lives. Susan suddenly found herself fighting back tears, and when she realised she wasn't succeeding made a hurried grab for a tissue from the box on the end table. She had such good, sensitive, handsome and wonderful boys! Susan knew that their leaving for college was what was supposed to happen next. But all she could think of right now was how proud she was- and how much she was going to miss them.

**XX**

_This is taking too fucking long_.

Mark abruptly slammed his right foot down on his Jeep's gas pedal, jerking the SUV into left lane and swiftly passing the sedan he'd been driving behind. Mark had been hauling ass down the highway, well over the speed limit of 70 miles an hour, when he'd come up behind this sonofabitchin Taurus. Mark had let off the gas just in time to slow down, and his patience had lasted barely a minute. As he gunned the Jeep's V8, roaring past and continuing down the road and staying in the left lane, Mark turned up the radio.

The industrial metal band on the radio was already playing louder than Hell; the sound rose to the kind of volume they were famous for on stage. Mark knew this wasn't doing his hearing any favours, but it wasn't like he cared. Besides, he really didn't need to worry. The same thing that went for his constant smoking stood true for this- Mark just needed to clear things up once in a while. Take a little time off in a place that had been sacred to Mark and his brother for years. Not only did he suffer no real losses, Mark had made immense gains physically over the years. He delighted in letting the Jeep's powerful speakers assault his eardrums, smug in the knowledge that the damage would never be lasting. It was a nice thing to know; caution could be thrown to the wind just a little more when you knew what Mark did, and that was something he really loved to do.

The silver Taurus swiftly disappearing into the dark behind him, Mark sped on down the interstate, watching the bluish-green-glowing speedometer needle rise again to more than eighty miles an hour, then ninety. Mark got a thrill whenever he took his Jeep to speeds this fast, but to tell the truth even ninety was pretty tame. He wanted to take this SUV as fast as it would go- if he could, to find out if the listed limit of 120 was really the fastest speed the Grand Cherokee could reach. Maybe not today, or tomorrow- but sometime. Mark wanted to push the limits on everything in his life, push until only he- and Henry- could attain the boundaries he had reached. Mark wanted to outdo everyone at everything, all throughout his life. A lofty goal, but with Henry at his side the auburn-haired teen knew it was possible. Anything was, so long as they always had each other.

Suddenly, though, Mark took his foot off the gas. The Jeep's speed slowly began to bleed away, and Mark braked steadily as he steered over to the right side of the interstate. He had spotted somebody standing in the breakdown lane, silhouetted in the highbeams. Mark's face brightened as he realised; a hitchhiker! It had to be. As he braked to a stop and glanced in the rearview mirror, Mark smiled a little as he saw the figure, dressed in a blue-gray jacket and jeans, sprinted forward to catch up to the stopped car that was- hopefully- going to be his ride. When the guy got close enough, Mark pushed a button on the driver's side door, unlocking the Jeep's doors so the hitchhiker could get in the passenger seat.

The passenger door opened, and the overhead dome light came on. A guy in his twenties, probably a college junior or senior, hopped in and closed the door, and Mark had time to notice his messy black hair, dark brown eyes, and grateful expression before the dome light went out. "Thanks, my man," the guy said, nodding in gratitude to Mark. "Kent Malone," he said, and held out a hand.

_The next time you call me "my man", I'll fuckin kill you with my bare hands_, Mark thought with a pulse of anger, but took his right hand off the wheel to briefly give Kent Malone's hand a shake. "Mark Evans," he said, then returned to driving with both hands as he steered left and swiftly accelerated onto the highway. Both young men were pushed back in their seats by the acceleration, and as he glanced left Kent noticed Mark's formidable, muscular build for the first time, as well as the fact that his head wasn't all that far from the ceiling of the Jeep. This dude looked like he was a teenager, but he could have been a bodybuilder or football player. Maybe he was.

"You play any sports, Mark?" Kent asked, knowing he most certainly did. It made the aspiring journalist's eyes widen, just looking over at the driver who'd picked him up- he really was built like a football player. Hercules might have looked something like this as a teenager.

"Sure do," Mark nodded, smiling a little. He visibly relaxed as the topic shifted to something he really liked. "I'm co-captain of the Varsity hockey and football teams at my high school."

"So that's what you do?" Kent asked, almost in disbelief. "You go to high school?"

"That's right," the auburn-haired teen said. He cast a glance at the other young man. "Why? Don't I look it?"

"Oh, no," Kent laughed, a little nervously, "It's not that. You're just a big guy, is all. You could pass for a football player at U-Penn."

Mark smiled; he liked the idea of being a prospect for college girls. Maybe he would want to start broadening his horizons, even before graduation. And then there was that new chemistry teacher he had at his school…

"So that's where you go?" Mark asked. "U-Penn?"

"Yep," Kent said. "Sure do."

"So what brings you up to Maine?" Mark queried; he was genuinely curious about that one. It was especially important to know if he had anyone else with him- anybody who might care to know if Kent was a bit late in getting back to U-fucking-Penn.

"Oh, just seeing the area," Kent said airily. Mark secretly wished this guy would be more visibly scared of him; it kept people's words fewer and their tone more respectful. And the conversation was more about Mark, who was all that mattered in the friggin world anyway. And Henry, of course.

Mark would gladly kill this pitiful fuck Kent Malone and everybody else in the goddamn world, given enough time. He looked forward to trying, actually. And if the day came when Mark actually succeeded, Henry would naturally be the only other person left. The auburn-haired teen knew that; there was no need to debate or think about it. Sure, Mark knew he'd miss all the beautiful girls- and women- he hadn't gotten around to screwing yet, but he'd had plenty already. Girls, no matter how beautiful, were just playthings to Mark. Henry was his brother.

"That so?" Mark asked politely, and Kent nodded. "Like the Portland area so far?"

"Certainly," Kent said warmly. "I was just coming up towards Rockbridge, hiking like I've been doing most of the way. After sundown it started getting a little cool out there so I thought I'd try and catch a ride."

Reaching into his pocket, Mark casually drew out his cell phone, flipped it open, and pressed a few buttons to send a message to Henry. The conversation was short and to the point, but conveyed a whole world of meaning between the two brothers.

_We'll be getting back towards 8 tonight_, Mark typed, tapping out the message. The damned buttons had three letters assigned to each number so it took forever to type out even one sentence. Mark hoped the goddamn idiots at AT&T would hurry up and give him an actual set of letters to work with, like a miniature keyboard or something.

A few moments later the phone hummed as it received a reply. Mark pressed a button to read the message: _Pick somebody up_?

Loving the fact that Henry had so easily guessed his meaning- unlike with anyone else, Mark actually enjoyed it when Henry seemed to have read his mind- Mark smiled and typed back, _Yes_.

Just a moment later, Henry answered, _On Walker Road. Didn't find anybody. Be there in 5._

Mark couldn't help but smile; he felt sympathy for his brother's lack of good fortune tonight, but he knew Henry felt better knowing Mark had gotten lucky instead. There was no petty rivalry or jealousy between them; only the good times shared by true brothers.

Mark still remembered how joyful an occasion it had been for Henry when he'd picked up this nice-looking girl visiting Portland, going to a college way out of state somewhere. Henry had gotten to Fleetwood Hall first and ended up enjoying himself so much, he'd almost forgotten about giving Mark a turn before they left her in the house's wine cellar. He'd remembered, though, and the auburn-haired teen had ended up agreeing; the girl did indeed become much more willing to just shut up and take it after Mark smacked her around a bit. Mark's brother was full of all kinds of helpful advice, especially at such moments as those. Henry was always kind and considerate when it came to his brother, and never was the blonde teen more well-mannered than when they were sharing a victim together.

Ever since they'd offed Alice Davenport not long after Mark's return to Maine, joint murder- and on more than one lucky occasion, rape- had been their most treasured pastime. Every last one of Mark's fondest memories seemed to involve some time when he and Henry beat up and/or killed some weakling together.

Mark tapped an answer into his phone: _Be there in 10_. Mark wished he could one-up his brother and say he'd be there in much less, but Mark knew where he was on the interstate that ran through Rockbridge. Ten minutes was about how long it would take to get to his destination. Henry wouldn't mind having to wait a few minutes; he'd just burn through a cigarette or two once he'd parked his Hummer.

"Hey," Mark asked, "You looking for someplace to stay tonight? I know you gotta be having a rough time, not knowing where everything is in this town." He glanced at the college guy beside him. "Trust me, don't feel so bad if you get lost in Portland sometimes. It's a big place for me, too, and I live here."

Kent laughed, smiling in gratitude. "I've been getting along okay, but that does make me feel better. I'm glad I came up to Maine for a weekend; it's a real beautiful place."

"Sure is," Mark nodded. "It's at its best in the winter. The cold tries your spirit. Drives away the weak."

"Yeah," Kent said, a little unsure of what to say to that. When he looked left as the teenager had been talking, Kent could have sworn he saw a glow come into the boy's eyes, one that looked truly unnatural in the green lights of the dashboard. It was a little creepy.

But whatever the moment was, it was gone just as fast as it had come. Mark blinked, glancing over at the journalist as he sped down the interstate. "So were you looking for someplace to stay for tonight?"

But right then Kent was distracted by the dashboard. The speedometer needle was climbing past eighty again, and Kent glanced at the teenager, feeling a little uneasy.

"Uh, are you sure you oughta be going that fast, my man?"

Mark felt another surge of anger, but forced himself to remain calm. He let his foot off the gas, shifting his features and tone to one of apology. "Oh, sorry, dude," Mark said. "This thing's got a V8. _Really_ fuckin' fast. Sometimes I just get carried away, you know?"

"Yeah," Kent said, relaxing as Mark slowed to a more reasonable seventy-six. "I know what you mean. I have a Mustang myself."

_Nice_, Mark thought. _Maybe I'll pick that fucker up some weekend. Maybe bang your girlfriend while I'm down that way, too. Assuming a scroungy little fuck like you even has a girl worth looking at._

"Oh," the auburn-haired teen said, as if just remembering something important, "Did you say you were looking for someplace to stay?"

"I am, actually," Kent nodded. "You know any place around here? I mean, whatever's good. I'm not picky, even a quick overnight stay would be fine. I'm only around here for the weekend anyway, like I said."

The muscular teenager behind the wheel grinned a little, and had Kent been paying close attention he would have found Mark's face, lit as it was in the pale green of the dashboard lights, to be slowly forming into a sunken and rather horrible grin. But Kent was digging in his pocket for his phone, making sure it still had some battery charge left, and all he heard was Mark's warm voice saying, "Yeah, dude. I know a place."

He glanced at Kent for a moment. "You know of any of the big mansions around Rockbridge? Like Fleetwood Hall?"

Kent shook his head; he was no expert on the history of the Portland suburb's mansions. "No," he said. "They let guests stay at some of 'em sometimes, I guess?"

Mark nodded in affirmation, fighting to hide a smirk as he looked out the driver's side window, his foot regularly pressing the gas as he drove down the mostly-vacant and dark interstate. This was gonna be fun. "Yeah, man," Mark said. "There's this one I know that is real nice to traveling guys like yourself. Always got an extra bed."

"Oh, cool!" Kent said, pleased at his good fortune. "How far is it till we get there?"

"Not far," Mark said calmly. "We'll be there soon."


	7. Chapter 7- At Lunch

**Chapter VII- At Lunch**

* * *

Julie Michaels sat down in the staff and teachers' lunch room, setting the bagged lunch she'd brought for today down on the table in front of her. It was Friday afternoon, the end of the second week of the new school year and also the end of the month. Julie took out the apple, orange and ham-and-cheese sandwich she'd brought with her, trying not to pay too much attention to the conversation going on just down the table from her.

Administrative secretary Andrea Johnson and PE teacher Laurie Hughes were having a rather animated- and, Julie was pretty certain, distinctly unprofessional- conversation about two boys who went to the school. Though she was new here and didn't know a lot about who was who just yet, Julie had a feeling she knew who the subject of the conversation was. In all likelihood it was those gorgeous teenage wonders, the He-Men of Chamberlain High, the Evans brothers. Julie tried to ignore the conversation once she realised that was who the teacher and secretary were talking about, but only found herself listening with greater interest than before as the two women continued talking.

"Laurie," Andrea Johnson said, "I don't know how I'm supposed to do it. I mean, yeah, those two _are_ seventeen. I get it. But come _on_! They're the hottest guys in this school, _any_body can tell you that. Am I _really_ not supposed stare at those chests they've got, or those arms?"

"Think about what it was like for me, Andrea," Laurie Hughes said. "I'm a PE teacher. For two years I had to stand across the room and see them working up a sweat playing basketball or floor hockey. I wasn't their teacher, and that just made it harder, because I kept glancing over there and trying to see if they'd taken their shirts off yet. That one time they did? Oh, man! I think I forgot what country I was in."

"I know what you mean," Johnson said. "Is it true Decauter is having a 1999 football team calendar released? Something like that?"

"I think so," Hughes said. "If I know Decauter he's gonna have the Evans brothers in there a lot. Probably in their underwear if he can get away with it."

"Well, I know _I'm_ getting one of those calendars," Andrea Johnson said. "If anybody asks I'll just say I'm supporting the football team. You know, whatever works."

"You know what the hardest part for me is?" Laurie Hughes asked. "Treating those two like regular students. If I saw them sunbathing in Florida sometime, I'd pay a month's salary just to take their photographs."

Julie's eyebrows went up at those last two sentences; she could hardly even pretend she wasn't listening anymore. Her look of surprise must have shown, too, because the PE teacher glanced over at Julie. "You have to know what I'm talking about, Julie," Hughes said. "Come on. You have them in _class_! Lucky you. That _has_ to be the highlight of _your_ day."

"Well, _Mark_ Evans," Julie said carefully, trying to hide how right she knew Hughes probably was. "He's in my AP Chemistry class, 5th hour."

"So you know what we mean!" Andrea Johnson declared. "You know what it's like even better than we do. It's gotta be the best moment you have all day, having Mark in class right after lunch."

"It's not like that," Julie said, feeling awkward and flustered for some reason. "I don't undress him with my eyes or anything."

Both Andrea and Laurie looked politely unconvinced at that.

"He's attentive," Julie said, feeling even more defensive now. "He's engaged in class, always involved with discussion. He always takes notes and asks questions, often things the other kids don't think of. He's a really intelligent student."

"Oh, really?" Andrea Johnson asked, her tone highly skeptical. "So you're trying to tell me that handsome face, curly brown locks, his muscles and the fact that he literally towers over everybody around him has nothing to do with it?"

"You sound like you want to invite him over for coffee!" Julie exclaimed, startled at the direction this conversation was taking.

"I think you do," Andrea said matter-of-factly. "Are you _sure_ that's _all_ you wanna do with him?"

"N-no! I mean, yes!" Julie stuttered, truly flustered and embarrassed now. It was true that Mark was a good-looking boy; in fact, he was really good-looking. Had Julie seen him in the halls at college or at on the sand Myrtle Beach while she was in graduate school down in Charleston, she would have asked him for a date without a second thought. Or maybe flirted with him some, hoping he'd ask her. Mark was a stunningly attractive boy, blessed with a muscular, incredibly fit body as well as a handsome face. But he was a _student_, for God's sake! A high school boy who wasn't even eighteen yet! Briefly, an image forced its way into her mind even so. She thought of Mark, his shirt off and only a pair of swimming trunks concealing the wonders below his waist, slowly sliding the elastic band down as he hovered over her in bed, at home in her house…

"He's a _student_!" Julie suddenly exclaimed, shoving the image from her mind with a sudden sense of guilt and desperation. "Andrea, Laurie, we really shouldn't even be talking like this," she said, forcing herself to calm down. "This sort of stuff can get us in trouble."

"Okay, okay," Andrea said. "I'm still buying one of those calendars, though." After a few moments of silence the topic shifted to other things, ones less likely to cause potential legal problems if overheard by the wrong people. Julie made sure her mind stayed off the topic for the rest of the day… but she still thought about Mark Evans that night, just once allowing herself the guilty pleasure of thinking of that auburn-haired teenager wonder, slowly baring his full physical glory for only Julie's eyes to see. It was something she felt horribly guilty thinking about, and there was no way it could ever happen. But it was still something to think about, to wish for. Julie couldn't quite get it out of her head, and she found herself wanting to both curse and thank Andrea Johnson and Laurie Hughes for putting it there.

**XX**

Chris Marshal sat down at his new lunch table, right in the center of the cafeteria and only one over from the one occupied by the Evans brothers. Glancing over there, Chris could see the brothers were surrounded by their usual group of popular guys and girls- Jason, John, Paul and Anthony in particular, along with their accompanying girlfriends for the time being. He also noticed that the red-haired beauty of the cheerleading squad, Amy Philips, and the slender blonde mean girl, Lisa Doyle, had joined the table and by this Friday, the end of the second week, were clearly regular guests at Mark and Henry's table.

The red-headed teen began eating his lunch, picking up the cheeseburger he had at the center of his tray and thinking about how this past week had gone, and the progress he'd managed to make. He could even now feel traces of the beating he'd taken at Henry Evans' hands several days ago, but Chris was starting to join the workouts Henry and his brother led at the gym almost every day of the week. It felt good to know the physical stress he was putting himself to was worth it; since that boxing match with Henry, Chris had been invited to hang out with the brothers several times. The red-head still intended to try out for the Varsity hockey team, even though he could already tell that Henry and Mark weren't going to take it easy on him in the tests or training.

They drove the new boys hardest, and it was common knowledge among the underclassmen at Chamberlain that Mark and Henry took a special pride in making the new boys vomit at least once in their first practice. It was something that went against all the rules, but it wasn't like Coach Buckner was gonna say anything at the hockey practices, or Coach Cressner at the football ones. They knew Principal Decauter was gonna give his golden boys whatever they wanted to keep them bringing in trophies for Chamberlain, and the boys coming in at the tryouts, underclassmen or upperclassmen, knew all that too. If you wanted to make the team, you didn't bitch or drop out, not for anything. Plain and simple.

Chris knew he was worried about all that, and couldn't deny that he was nervous about what was headed his way when he came to the tryouts. The upside was that if he wanted to go into the military he'd be set- the things Mark and Henry did to try to break their aspiring players were easily approaching basic military standards. But Chris was sure he had both the physical and mental strength to make it on the Varsity hockey team, and once he did that he'd be set. Overall, things were going pretty good. He'd made a good impression thus far and hoped to continue capitalizing on that.

So set was the red-haired teen on his own thoughts and planning, he didn't noticed a dark-haired, dour-faced boy with an athletic build dropping down into an empty seat across the table from him. Looking up, Chris recognized the boy easily enough. He was Scott Shepherd, captain of the Varsity soccer team and a popular boy in his own right, but not part of the top clique- Henry and Mark Evans' clique- that Chris was aspiring to join. Scott had a rounded, handsome face, brown-black hair and serious, dark brown eyes.

"What's up," Chris said, not so much a question but a statement, raising his head and nodding to Scott by way of greeting.

"I've noticed you hanging around with the Evans brothers lately," Scott said, getting right to the point.

"They seem to be the popular guys around here," Chris shrugged. "I aim high."

Scott huffed, fighting to keep from rolling his eyes. He'd heard that one before, all right. He'd heard it all before. But he looked intently at the red-haired boy and said, "Let me tell you something, Chris. Stay clear of those two."

Chris stared at the other teenager, not even trying to hide how shocked he was. "What?" he said, wide-eyed. "Why?"

Where Chris didn't try hiding his shock and surprise, Scott didn't bother to hide his disgust. "Oh, come on," he snapped. "Get real. You haven't _seen_ how cruel those two fuckers are? You've been here for two weeks. You've got eyes in your friggin' head. Look at what they do in just one week!"

The red-haired teen resumed eating, forcing himself to shrug. "Why don't you tell me, in case I missed something?"

The dark-haired boy looked annoyed at that, but he held out a hand and began ticking off fingers as he talked. "Every week, man. Every week Mark and Henry are picking on kids, shoving them around, taking kids' homework and ripping it up, tripping them in the halls- even _punching_ them once in a whole for Chrissake!" He paused, trying to gauge Chris' reaction, but the red-haired teen just stared back at him, plainly waiting to hear the rest of it.

"And then there's all the verbal bullying," Scott went on. "Mark and Henry hate everybody. _Everybody_! They don't give a shit about _any_body but themselves. They think it's funny when they mock some kid in front of people, and don't think those fuckin' followers of theirs don't pick up on it! Anthony, Jason, John- all the rest of those preppy-jock fucks. They do it too, going along with whatever Henry and Mark do." Scott's face twisted into a grimace, and he shook his head in real disgust. "Like a bunch of fuckin' trained _dogs_."

Determined not to listen to this boy- for some reason Chris really didn't want to be seen talking to him, let alone agreeing with anything he said on a subject like this- the red-haired teen shrugged, keeping his expression skeptical. "So?" Chris said. "Why haven't they been caught _doing_ all this, then? The way you make it sound, they oughta be in jail."

"They should be," Scott said, his voice serious. "But they're too smart for that. They vary what they do every week, who they pick on and how they do it. You could even say they got a couple rules."

"Well," Chris said, "why don't you tell me about 'em?"

"Number One," Scott said. "Never bully anybody so hard or continuously that they do something serious. Mark and Henry would probably think some kid hanging himself after school one afternoon was funny, but that's bad PR. Number Two: They beat anybody who snitches so hard that once word gets around, nobody ever tries turning them in again. And Number Three: keep 'em scared. Out of all the guys that they pick on, Mark and Henry keep everybody scared to death of them. It makes 'em feel good. Makes 'em feel powerful."

Scott looked at Chris, becoming irritated at the indifferent expression on the red-headed boy's face. "And they go through girls like fucking Kleenex tissues! You think it's just some coincidence that they swap girlfriends several _times_ in a fuckin' year?"

"Look, dude," Chris said with ill-concealed impatience, "What's the point here?"

"I told you," Scott said with forced patience. "I'm telling you. Those two don't care about anyone but themselves."

"Thanks for the warning," Chris said, unable to keep a frosty edge from his voice. "I appreciate it."

Scott didn't say anything. He could see the new kid wasn't buying it. He just shook his head, disgusted and saddened to see such a smart guy- and Chris clearly was smart- falling into the trap the Evans brothers had set. They offered popularity, athletic fame, and a chance to make your high school years as fun as they were meant to be and then some. But their friendship demanded much, from you in the first place- many kids, for lack of physical, social or financial credentials, had no chance. It was something hundreds of kids hoped to be able to do, though- becoming friends with Henry and Mark Evans- and the price was more than worth it. And so what if they were shallow, two-faced jerks? It was no big deal. Scott had heard it all before.

Even that businessman-disguised-as-a-principal Decauter, the one guy who could and should have been able and willing to do something, didn't believe Scott for a minute. Those two, the handsome and perfect Evans brothers, being callous, bullying jerks? Impossible. Scott knew just how those two treated girls, too- they were in it purely for the physical benefits. Get a little "head" on Friday night, get a lot more Sunday- and then swap over to a new babe when the current one was getting boring.

That was what each and every relationship they'd been in was about, without so much as a single exception. Scott could barely stand to watch it- how Henry and Mark flirted with girls so skillfully, even breaking up existing relationships if a girl happened to catch their eye. They were so desired by the girls at Chamberlain that nobody questioned what Mark and Henry did- not even the girls they'd gone out with, after they'd been used and discarded like so many attractive tissues. The former girlfriends treasured the memories of their time with whichever brother they'd dated, if anything blaming themselves for not being X enough. Attractive, loving, servile- whatever it was, former girlfriends seemed to universally wish that they could have been up to Henry and Mark's standards. From what Scott could tell, it often had nothing to do with that- many times a relationship ended just because Henry and Mark had gotten bored.

Scott stood up from the table, casting a baleful look of resentment towards the Evans brothers' table. He walked away to go get ready for his first afternoon class- as it happened, Scott had already finished his lunch, and he would not have had much of an appetite anyway. The dark-haired teen headed out of the cafeteria, remembering with awful clarity how things had once been around here, and how quickly they'd changed.

Just some four or five years ago, back in the seventh grade, Henry Evans had been an entirely different person. Yes, he'd had his wealth, his good looks and ability to charm adults, but all that had fallen flat on its ass where popularity with his classmates were concerned. Henry might have had the principal and his teachers thinking he was an angel, but his classmates saw him for what he was- a blonde, freakish WASP with the meanest, coldest eyes you ever saw. They'd nicknamed him "Creepy Henry" as far back as elementary school, a title that infuriated Henry. Scott had never taken part in the mockery- he didn't believe in playing the bully's game, even if a good case could be argued that the person deserved it- but he accepted that Henry had earned the pariah-like place he held in the classroom. He'd done it to himself.

Then came that day when Scott was twelve years old, when he first heard the rumor that Henry had ambushed Peter Bradshaw in the locker room after soccer practice. The little shit had taken a knife and threatened to cut Peter's balls off- his balls, for God's sake!- and it had come close to literally scaring the kid to death. Scott had nearly exploded with fury when he'd heard- he'd wanted to catch Henry alone sometime and give him the beating of his life. For some reason, though, he'd hesitated. Scott had hated Henry so much he'd wanted to put him in the hospital- and maybe that was the reason he'd never gone through with it. Even at a moment where Henry had gone farther than ever before, Scott had held back for fear of doing too much to him. It was easily the biggest regret of Scott's life.

Nobody had been able to prove anything about what had happened- no one even directly accused Henry. There wasn't enough evidence, and the Peter himself denied everything. Peter was a nervous wreck after that, pale and shaking, and he withdrew from Henry and Scott's junior high school after just a few weeks. It was wrong beyond words what Henry had done, but his classmates again smelled a rat. Henry had been "Creepy Henry" for just one more reason after that, and Scott had taken some satisfaction in knowing things weren't going to change.

They had, though, and the speed of the change Scott saw Henry Evans' life experience was as startling as how altering it really was. Henry's pariah existence had been ended abruptly, his life reinvented almost completely, and it had only taken a year. Scott knew one person, and one only, was responsible for all that. And for that very reason, Scott Shepherd hated Mark Evans more than anyone else in the world. Henry's cousin by blood but his brother by adoption, Mark had moved into Maine back in 1994, close to the end of the 7th grade school year. The auburn-haired little stud had shown up and introduced himself as Henry's brother- always as the blonde prick's brother, never as his cousin. That much Scott knew from a conversation years ago, during a soccer game that Henry's parents had attended.

A nine-year-old Scott, only just transferred to a new school and learning to know people, had asked Susan Evans, Henry's mother, if Henry had any siblings. Susan had said no, Henry was an only son, and Scott had no reason to doubt her. Even all these years later he liked Susan Evans- she was a kind, honest woman, one who was inclined to trust people unless given reason to do otherwise. She believed being a mother meant loving your family, and doing so unconditionally. It was unforgivable what Henry was doing, taking advantage of his mother's trust that way, not to mention his father's- but it made sense why Susan and Wallace Evans trusted their son so much. Scott supposed they couldn't be blamed.

Mark Evans was an entirely different story, however. He had shown up suddenly late in May 1994, and it was stunning even now to remember how quickly he'd become popular in school. The good looks Henry had been blessed with also had been granted to Mark, though in a different way; he was a brighter, more lively boy, with curly, auburn-brown hair instead of Henry's smooth, wavy blonde. He was an instant hit with the girls, and made a whole world of difference in Henry's social life. Suddenly Henry wasn't so indifferent to his teammates and the popular boys in his class. He abruptly quit hogging the ball in soccer, steadily becoming more of a team player as his brother stepped onto the team and took Scott's place as a forward. Of course, Scott had not given up his position easily- he'd gone fighting for it all the way, even physically scuffling with the brothers after one practice when he smugly pointed out the fact that the two weren't really brothers.

He'd had some sympathy for Mark at first, especially when Scott had learned both of Mark's parents were dead. But within weeks of meeting him, Scott had learned firsthand that while the auburn-haired boy was in many ways completely different from his blonde cousin, the two were ultimately much alike. Most importantly, they got along and really were as close as brothers. So after sitting out a whole game for possibly the first time in his life, Scott had been livid with rage. He had confronted the two Evans 'brothers' after that game, revealing that he knew they weren't really siblings. That had been the day Scott Shepherd had learned firsthand how alike the two truly were. Henry and Mark's blue eyes had each gone cold, narrowed as their faces tensed with an almost unbelievable expression of hate. Briefly, Mark and Henry had glanced at each other, and then the fight had started.

To his credit, Scott had done pretty well- Mark wasn't the only one who liked to do some pushups every day. A few other boys had broken up the fight before it could get ugly, so a scuffle was as far as it went. Henry had socked Scott in the gut, though, and Mark made a serious effort to punch him in the balls, while Scott had given both of them a couple of good bruises and an uppercut or two. The brothers had left with their parents while John LaFleur, wide-eyed and shocked, hurried Scott away so the two could talk. Scott had taken that as a chance to make his case against Henry and his new 'brother', pointing out how selective everybody's memories were starting to get even then, and asking if he was the only person who remembered what a cold-hearted jerk Henry had always been. John, though, hadn't gone for it. "Come on, dude," he'd said, "Henry's changed! Mark's a great guy!"

Bullshit, Scott had said. And from that day forward he'd kept away from the Evans brothers, watching with steadily-growing resentment as Henry and Mark became the team's star players and led them to victory at the championship that summer. That fall they left both their club soccer team and the one at school, moving on to football at the start of their eighth grade year. They'd begun taking hockey lessons as well, preparing for tryouts with the hockey team at Chamberlain High School. Scott had been more than happy to see them go, but their absence had been clearly felt after that. The soccer team had experienced a vastly more mixed season in the 1994-1995 school year, and Scott had become team captain and center striker- a post he still held today. But in spite of his best efforts, Scott had never been able to replicate the winning season he'd had when Henry and Mark were on the team.

Things hadn't gotten any better when freshman year rolled around. In fact, they'd gotten much worse. Henry and Mark had walked onto the 1995-1996 Varsity hockey team and made a tremendous impression right from the start, excelling even in their first practices under team captain Robert Warren's supervision. The normally stern and demanding Warren- who was known for his strict standards for admitting anyone, especially freshmen, to the Varsity hockey team- had been taken with them from the start, before long treating them not as stupid new guys but as friends. That had just been the preliminary stuff, however- when Henry and Mark led the Varsity hockey team to that state championship win, their popularity had exploded overnight.

They suddenly enjoyed influence and popularity like no 9th grader had ever known at Chamberlain High before, and the fact that each Evans brother had enjoyed his "first" with a senior-year cheerleader made them legends in their own time. Popularity as a freshman suddenly depended, more than anything else, on how close you were to the Evans brothers. Scott had refused to have anything to do with them, and for that his own popularity had inevitably stalled by comparison. He was an athlete himself, and good-looking and charming in his own way- but no matter what Scott did, there was always some incident that proved Mark and Henry could do it better. They were faster, stronger, richer, more popular- and because of his distance from them, because he wasn't taken in by their good looks and charm, Scott began to notice for the first time how truly arrogant they were. Mark and Henry each became authorities among their classmates on sports, money and girls, true experts on all three. They were jaw-droppingly good at appearing kind and caring with girls, but Scott had heard them bragging about that very skill- and heard their disciples, Anthony Summers in particular, doing the same.

Scott had tried one more time to sway John LaFleur away, but his former friend couldn't be swayed. Mark had set him up with Shannon Hewitt, a senior cheerleader John had been crushing on since he'd entered high school, and from the night of that party onwards the Evans brothers had held him by the balls. Scott wanted to cry when he thought about it- a once-good friend, kind and considerate, unable to see the cruelty and arrogance of the Evans brothers because they had delivered him the girl of his dreams. It was a way that Scott had seen them win many boys' loyalty- once handed what was often their first time with a girl, each and every one of those teenage boys had been willing to do murder for Henry and Mark. Scott bitterly thought of that saying, that "An army marches on its stomach," and noted there was an amendment to that as far as teenage boys went. "An adolescent boy lives and dies for pussy".

Rather crude, yes, but it was true. Scott saw how carelessly Henry and Mark picked up girls, used them to get a physical thrill whenever they wanted, and then discarded them like they didn't exist and never had. And they taught other boys to do the same, spawning dozens of would-be imitators all around the school. It was sickening to watch- especially when you considered that ninety percent of them, guys and girls, could and should have known better.

So why hadn't Scott done anything? If he saw the truth so clearly, why wasn't he busy raising hell and trying to make the facts known? It wasn't that simple. Scott knew that firsthand. He'd already tried those things, tried them many times and with people he'd hoped and believed would listen. Nobody had wanted to. Henry and Mark were playing their cards beautifully, winning the loyalty of the winners and ensuring the crushed, downtrodden silence of the losers. They were so damn smart.

These days, Henry and Mark Evans basically ran Chamberlain High School. They needed Decauter and his staff as figureheads, but from what Scott had heard, that was really all any of them were. Certainly coaches Cressner and Buckner weren't the ones really in charge of the football and hockey teams- Henry and Mark were. They could hardly complain- Henry and Mark brought them trophies every year, so how many coaches really would?- but it was obvious Henry and Mark would crush them even if they tried.

As the lunch bell rang in the hallway, signaling the end of lunch, Scott reached his locker and got out the books for his next class. He thought of that scuffle he'd had with the Evans brothers in the summer of 7th grade year, and his once-overwhelming urge to find Henry alone and just beat the hell out of him sometime. It was all that blonde monster deserved after what he'd done to Peter Bradshaw. Briefly, Scott wished he'd gone through with it. He should have taken Henry on in a real fight, while he still could have won.

But it didn't take Scott long to consider. Scott valued his own 'special place'- he enjoyed some healthy adolescent use of it with his girlfriend of two years, Sarah Hammer, once or twice a month- and there was a distinct chance that if Scott had beaten Henry up to avenge the wrong done to Peter, something very similar might have come his way years later. As much as Scott wished he could have avenged what was done to Peter Bradshaw, it gave Scott pause when he considered what could have happened had he done just that. When Mark came out here he was instantly Henry's closest companion and social rehabilitator, and had Henry been beaten up by Scott a year ago, Mark would have certainly heard about it. And while Mark was publicly a cheerful and generous boy, Scott suspected that the dark, cold things that swam behind Henry's eyes existed behind Mark's too. They might have done more than just come to take Scott's balls some dark night.

They might have done something worse.


	8. Chapter 8- Work & Play

**Chapter VIII- In Work & Play**

* * *

Friday afternoon brought unexpected complications for Julie Michaels, the new chemistry teacher with the slender, attractive frame and the long, silvery-blonde hair. Well, it was overall a routine day. Morning classes had been normal, and so had the afternoon- with a single exception. That exception just happened to be the one Mark Evans was in. AP Chemistry was getting… complicated.

It was all Andrea Johnson and Laurie Hughes' fault! From the minute that conversation happened at lunch, Julie hadn't been able to stop thinking about it. For the rest of the day, she knew she would be. She'd known before that Mark was attractive, but now that the idea of actually letting herself have a crush on him was raised, she couldn't seem to take her mind off it. Mark Evans wasn't just cute, or even hot- he was absolutely devastating. He was too much man to even be believed- unless you saw him for yourself. Under his shirts, whatever kind he was wearing, his muscles rippled like water. Julie fought to keep her eyes off Mark during class, battled to keep that brief attempt to visualize him naked- and about to make love to her of all things- from resurfacing in her mind. Once or twice Julie could have sworn she saw the six-foot-six, muscular and stunningly handsome teenager wink at her. Or maybe she'd just imagined it.

What Julie didn't imagine, though, was Mark's staying after class to talk to her like he so often did. At first Julie had been surprised by his interest in the subject, even pleased- Mark had a keen mind to go with his body, and was an incredibly talented student. It hadn't taken long for Julie to realize that. And now, today, she found herself a little flustered by Mark's presence, when he was in the classroom alone with her. It made her… uncomfortable. Like Julie had a sense, just a feeling, that if Mark made the right kind of move she might not know how to say no to him. Or maybe she just wouldn't want to.

It wasn't surprising that Mark chose to stay after class; Julie was already getting used to that, even after only two weeks. He always asked such intelligent questions in class, and seemed to have so many he inevitably had to stay after to ask a few more. Mark seemed to have an almost personal interest in chemistry class, and hungrily devoured everything gone over in the first two weeks of classes, clearly eager to get to the more complicated stuff.

Today, Julie had mentioned the fact that while chemistry was a subject with dozens upon dozens of real-world applications, one of the most familiar to the world had to be the invention of poison gas in the First World War. That had gotten Mark Evans' interest in an instant- she could see it in the way that he sat up and narrowed his eyes a little, remaining visibly entranced by the subject, even more than usual, for the rest of the class. And that- gas- was what Mark wanted to ask about. He came over to Julie Michaels' desk the same way he always did; a little cautious, a little careful, as if nothing was more important to him than making sure he didn't startle or offend his favourite teacher. But Mark also approached with confidence, his muscular body carrying him forward not only with minimal use of its formidable power, but with grace. He stopped by Julie's desk, smiling a little as she looked up at him. Julie couldn't quite help smiling back.

"Miss Michaels," the auburn-haired teen began in that wonderfully smooth voice of his, "what is chlorine? I mean, what makes it so important? How can it take so many forms?"

Julie leaned back in her chair, pushing away from the desk a bit so she didn't have to crane her neck up at the teenager literally towering over her. To say the least, he was very tall, well over six feet in height, and powerfully built. It made her a little uncomfortable to have Mark standing this close, and he did it the same way every time after class. Whether Julie was standing up and wiping off the whiteboard or seated at her desk, Mark always stood a little close- never more than three or four feet away. But he always had the most interesting questions, such clear curiosity and desire to learn. Julie just could never find it in herself to say no to him. She'd never found the mind of a student so fascinating.

"Chlorine is a chemical element, Mark," Julie Michaels said simply, reaching back with her hands to fidget with the bun she had her hair tied up in during the day. Only after she went home could she let it down- Julie worried she would too likely be mistaken for a high school or college student if she looked that way at school. It was the downside of her beauty, her youthful looks- Julie had always been both lucky and unlucky that way. Continuing to answer Mark's question, the chemistry teacher said, "It's mostly about what concentration it's in. Chloride ions are a key part of how our digestive systems break down food. Low concentrations of chlorine are mixed into the water in pools; it's not enough to be hazardous to us, but enough to kill off bacteria and keep plants from growing in the water. It's useful as a disinfectant, and as long as the amount of chlorine used is carefully controlled, it's not a health concern for humans."

"But how can you use it to kill people?" Mark asked, frowning in concentration. "I mean, how did they use it as poison gas in World War One?"

"In low concentrations, Mark, chlorine is safe- even helpful. The higher you go in the amount of it you include in something, the more unpleasant it is. At a high concentration, chlorine is extremely poisonous to living things."

"What does it do?" the teenager asked, looking at Julie intently. "How's it work?"

Julie hesitated, considering how best to explain that. "As a gas, it creates a reaction with the water on the inside of the throat and lungs, irritating the respiratory system. It attacks the lungs in particular. It isn't usually lethal, but death can occur after a few deep breaths of it." Privately, Julie wondered what fascination this held for Mark; the whole topic of poison gas was unpleasant to Julie, who disliked seeing the genius of chemistry and science as a whole used to such ends. But maybe he really was just curious; there wasn't anything wrong with that.

Mark stood silent for a few moments, thinking about all that. "Why did they use it, the Germans and the Allies? Did they think it would win the war?"

The young teacher nodded. "I think so, Mark. You know how the two sides got bogged down in trench warfare?"

The adolescent nodded in affirmation, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Well, gas was supposed to break the stalemate. It was meant to be so terrifying, so painful, that the other side would want to give up." Julie paused, shaking her head in distaste. "All it did was make a bad war worse."

"I agree," Mark said, and he sounded like he meant it. "Chemistry's amazing. It shouldn't be used for stuff like that."

"Thank you, Mark," Julie said, nodding as she sorted through a few papers on her desk, then looked back up at him. "I agree."

"Could I do a presentation on this sometime? Gas, I mean?" Mark shrugged, as if feeling a little awkward at asking such a question. "I know it's not a cool thing to talk about, but maybe that's just it. Maybe kids need to hear what this stuff's like; maybe that way they'll know why we should never use it in wars."

Julie couldn't help but smile; Mark was such a smart boy- and so considerate. Inwardly, she shamed herself for even speculating if Mark had some morbid, unnatural fascination with the deadly weapon of war called poison gas. He was too nice a boy for that- he might have had a certain resemblance to him, but he was no Cameron Coutler, one of the two boys who'd shot up that Colorado mall in 1995. That boy had been fascinated by the excruciating, agonizing death of hundreds, even thousands that could be caused by a well-aimed release of the right poison gas. He'd studied how it worked, what it did- Sarin above all had fascinated Cameron, as the most deadly poison gas in the world. Mark wasn't like that. He was different.

"I think you'll have a chance, Mark," Julie Michaels said. "We'll see what project assignments come up in the class."

Mark smiled, his handsome features lighting up in a way that almost made him literally glow. "Thanks, Miss Michaels," he said simply. "I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me."

Julie stood up, moving to clean the whiteboard off before the next class started to come in. She stopped to face Mark, though, and said, "You're welcome, Mark. A good teacher always appreciates a student with questions."

Looking up at him, Julie noticed once more how incredibly tall this boy was! He towered over everyone around him physically as well as mentally; the top of Julie's head barely came up to his broad, barrel-like chest. She could see the contour of his powerful chest, shoulder and arm muscles, barely hidden under the white polo Mark was wearing. Julie could almost see the physical power radiating off of him.

"Have a great day, Miss Michaels," Mark said, smiling warmly. "Thanks again."

Something about that smile- the warmth in it- seemed to fluster Julie. This boy really seemed to like her, and she wasn't sure what to make of that. Abruptly Julie felt her face grow warm, and knew she was blushing. Only slightly, but it was there- and suddenly Julie was terrified this boy could see her embarrassment. "You're welcome, Mark," Julie said, then with some effort added, "You'd better get to your next class."

Mark didn't say anything else; he just nodded politely and left, wishing her a good weekend.

_Damn it_!

Julie Michaels turned to the whiteboard and picked up an eraser, furiously erasing the leftover notes from AP Chemistry as the students for the next class started to trickle in. Clearing the whiteboard was a great excuse. Julie knew she didn't want anyone seeing her face right now, not until she was sure the flush in her cheeks had gone. For Christ's sake, what was she thinking? Mark Evans was a wonderful, fascinating student, one of the sharpest minds and most physically gifted boys she'd ever seen. But that was just the problem- he was a student! A boy!

No, not quite. Age was the only thing that barred Mark from the title of "man", and he was a man if Julie had ever seen one. Tall, handsome, physically fit and mentally gifted- Mark was more manly than all the boyfriends Julie had gone out with in college. And the ones she'd had in high school? They were as small children to this auburn-haired Adonis. He made them all look like nothing, little boys beside a teenage Hercules.

But he was only seventeen years old! In the eyes of the law, that still made Mark a boy, a minor. He was out of reach for Julie, whatever fantasies her mind tried to come up with. She would let herself relive that fantasy of a muscular, incredibly handsome Mark hovering over her in bed, later at night when no one could see her blush. But it was never going to happen, ever. Mark was seventeen years old, and as Julie began to gather her notes for the lecture for the next class, she forced thoughts of Mark Evans from her mind. But she was sure of one thing- as confused as she was about all this only two weeks into the school year, she was never sitting with Andrea Johnson or Laurie Hughes. Not ever again, not if she could help it.

She was afraid of what they might ask her next time- and what she might end up saying if she had to give a truthful answer.

**XX**

Mark Evans strode down the hall on his way to his 6th hour class, grabbing a small, timid-looking boy with glasses and jerking him out of the way without even breaking his stride. He was pleased, even happy, not quite able to keep a smile off his face.

He had seen the blush on Ms. Michaels' face.

The idea was hardly new. Mark and Henry used their good looks and muscles to intimidate men and flirt with women all the time, and more than once had they, Anthony, John or Jason joked about screwing a hot young teacher if the chance ever came along. But not many teachers at Chamberlain High were really worth looking at in that way, and few boys would have any idea how to approach a teacher the right way anyway. There was the age boundary, the professional boundaries that forbade a teacher of any gender from becoming a personal friend- romantic or platonic- of any of his or her students. If you were clumsy about it, tried treating her like another warm piece of pussy to stick it into on Friday nights, she'd figure that out right away and reject you, likely ruining your prospects with her for good. Mark was too smart to have tried it that way.

Right from the first day of school Mark had been intrigued by Ms. Julie Michaels. He was hardly the only teenage boy at school to have a crush on her, but Mark could tell right away that a crush was about as far as any of the others intended to go. The successful, popular boys were too busy screwing teenage cheerleaders, and the mediocrities and losers had no chance. Mark's plan was new, brand new- he hadn't even talked about it with Henry yet. But while he was definitely going to be dating Amy Philips for a while yet- it was already common knowledge that the two were going out, steadily growing more intimate- Mark had his sights set on Julie Michaels now, too. She was an adult, a beautiful woman who couldn't be more than thirty years old. Mark's chemistry teacher was undeniably physically attractive, but she was smart, too- Mark could see himself actually listening to her in conversations. He respected what she thought, what she had to say- whereas inevitably Amy, like all of Mark's past girlfriends, would become boring to listen to. Mark would end up wanting to just give up the "thoughtful and sensitive" act and tell Amy to shut the fuck up and give him some head, because that was all he wanted her for anyway.

But Julie Michaels? Mark really felt like Julie might be worth more than that.

It was a delicate situation he had here. If Mark messed it up, there was a good chance he'd lose any shot he had with Julie, and never get it back. But if he did this right, kept up his approach the right way? This just might work. He'd made valuable progress today; that blush told Mark that much. Julie Michaels was attracted to him, and fighting hard to avoid admitting it. Now, Mark needed to plan his next move. It needed to be a chessmaster's move, one that Mark's chemistry teacher would never see coming.

But there would be time for that later. Right now, Mark was heading to his second-to-last class of the day. Once 7th Hour ended, Mark would be meeting up with Amy outside her afternoon Biology class, giving her a ride home in his V8-powered Grand Cherokee. Henry was doing the same with his new girlfriend, and all four teenagers were to be getting ready for the party that was planned for tonight. It was going to be a classic party, the kind every teenager at Chamberlain hoped they'd be invited to. Henry and Mark wouldn't be drinking or doing any drugs- they never did, sticking instead to cigarettes- but they planned on enjoying themselves regardless.

There was more than a little fun to be had at these parties, even if you spent the entire time sober. Mark, for his part, was really looking forward to this, and he knew Henry was too. The two brothers had sworn off masturbation from the day they'd first gotten laid, agreeing that sexual release was what girls were for. If you couldn't have a girlfriend to fulfill that purpose when you needed it, you were failing as a man, period. Henry and Mark each had nothing but contempt for losers like that.

Mark couldn't help but smile when he thought about what the party was gonna be like tonight. Amy had agreed to Mark's offer of a ride home, and she'd also reacted favourably to his mention of the party tonight, and his invitation for her to come along. As far as Mark was concerned, and knew from firsthand experience, that was half the battle. He could practically feel his hands on her naked waist already, could already imagine the red-headed cheerleader excitedly telling her friends what an unbelievable experience it was. Mark had heard so many variations of it before. "That was great," or "You were amazing," or a similar "That was amazing". Once he'd finished, girls seemed to just be dying to cuddle up next to him in the bed, heaping compliments on Mark about what a great lover he was, so handsome and muscular. Mark loved hearing those compliments, and he loved those moments he spent with that procession of popular girls and cheerleaders, the naked cuddling in bed after he'd barely even exerted himself and blown the girl's mind in the process. It made him feel good, calmed him down- and of course, Mark knew those glowing compliments were nothing short of his due. After all, he was Mark Evans. Adoring him and satisfying his sexual needs was all Amy and any other girls were good for.

**XX**

Henry gunned the Hummer's massive engine, shifting a little in the tan cloth seat as he drove down the two-lane street, keeping an eye out for the right turn he needed to take to get into Lisa's neighborhood. He knew the way by now, but the Beast didn't just turn- or stop- on a dime. You had to stay alert if you wanted to avoid crashes in this vehicle. It wasn't like Henry cared, of course- he could have driven right over some prick out walking his dog, or crushed a Ford Escort coming around the corner, but such things did tend to make a mess. And if he had to stop to clean up some evidence, Henry would almost certainly be late in getting Lisa back to her house. She needed to get ready for the party, and girls always needed time for that stuff. Things had been going very well lately, and Henry didn't want that to change.

They'd been dating steadily for two weeks, and Henry normally advanced things so that he had sex with the new girlfriend within a month. But this time, things were happening differently- and Henry had to admit, he was pleased at the change. Very pleased, in fact. For once, he found he was dating a girl who not only never complained that things were moving too quickly, but if anything felt just the opposite. They'd done some real heavy-duty kissing in the past two weeks, the passion of it surprising even Henry. Lisa hadn't taken long to want things to go further, and Henry could tell just from the way she was always leaning in for a kiss now, constantly snuggling up to Henry or walking close beside him. This past Wednesday, Henry had brought Lisa by the Evans house after school while everybody was out. It was something he'd worked with Mark to make sure would happen- Henry wanted a little 'private time' for him and Lisa, so he could make sure things were nicely set up for the party this weekend.

It had gotten pretty interesting, Henry had to admit. They'd sat on the magnificently comfortable leather couch for over an hour, at first cuddling together as they watched a movie, then becoming interested in each other. Henry had reached over and kissed Lisa on the lips, and she clasped him by the back of the neck and kissed him back. In moments the two teens were making out, and Henry had absolutely loved the way Lisa had gasped when he'd slipped a hand up her shirt. Giving a soft moan, Lisa had done something she rightly guessed Henry would love. She'd slid a hand under his beltline, brushing aside the elastic band of Henry's boxers and gently taking hold of her boyfriend's hardened member. Henry had loved that and hated it at the same time; she was trying to make him want her more, and she wanted him bad enough to kill for it. Henry never did anything so base as screw a girl right there on the couch- he preferred something a little classier, like a bed with some beautiful silk sheets on it- but Lisa had come very close to making Henry break his rule. The temperature of the Evans family's living room had seemed to climb in a hurry, and had Lisa not obligingly unbuckled Henry's khakis and ducked her head down to finish the job, her boyfriend would probably have needed to go change his pants.

Lisa had wanted to do more- they hadn't gone any farther than this yet- but Henry had been forced to make his excuses. He needed to get her home, he insisted, and his folks would be home soon. With a smirk, Henry had also added that he could last quite a while- they might still be on that couch when his parents walked in if they went all the way to third base today.

Henry smiled at the memory. He knew Lisa had been hoping for him, wanting him for the past three years. By now, she was practically begging for it! Out of all the girls Henry had dated, he'd never had one who wanted him this desperately before. Henry knew that was the only word to describe Lisa's attraction to him. No other even seemed to fit. It was like Lisa was worried Henry was going to lose interest in her, too, if she wasn't willing and even eager to please Henry at every opportunity, she would lose her dream boyfriend at the very moment she was closest to having him for real. Henry knew he was the architect of Lisa's desperation and desire, knew he'd been paining her for years with his ignoring her at school, at games and parties.

And he had to say, he was pretty damn pleased with the results. Lisa wanted him so bad, she seemed like she'd do anything for it. As much as Henry enjoyed this, though, it was Friday night. Time to end Lisa's torment- not to mention his own! It had been close to four weeks now since Henry had last "got some", as Anthony Summers was fond of saying.

Damn, Henry realised as he turned the corner and started into Lisa's neighborhood, I feel like a fuckin' monk! Well, enough was enough. Henry had been abstinent for almost a month. Tonight was the night to put a stop to that.

"Henry," he heard his girlfriend say, and then a more insistent "Henry!"

The blonde adolescent turned his head, looking past the massive engine hump that on his side also mounted the radio and a few A/C vents- and made it nearly impossible for the driver and front passenger to look at each other.

"What?"

"Go back, you drove past my house!"

Henry glanced behind him, and abruptly hit the brakes when he saw Lisa was right. The massive truck stopped with surprising speed, and Henry quickly shifted into reverse and backed the Hummer up, stopping again with the huge black vehicle parked right by the curb, directly in from of Lisa's white Victorian-style house.

Lisa looked a little startled now, and she frowned when Henry looked at her. "I didn't mean _that_ fast, Henry. You could have turned around."

But Henry just smiled as she shifted into Park, looking back at his girlfriend and- as usual- speaking over the audible growl of the engine. "Liz," he said, pronouncing his pet nickname for her with care, "You can't turn around in a Hummer. You go forward or back up." Henry paused, enjoying how Lisa smiled at his use of that nickname she wished she could have. She'd almost been named Elizabeth, and recently had confided to Henry that she wished she could've gone by the nickname Liz. Henry didn't particularly care for it, but Lisa really liked the name for some reason. She tried to pout, tried to be mad at Henry for startling her by stopping that fast, but she gave it up after a few moments.

Henry opened the driver's door and got out, loving the increased noise of the powerful, growling V8 turbodiesel.

_I could stand here all damn day and listen to this ass-kicking truck_, Henry thought with a smile, but made himself walk steadily- not too fast, though, since he wanted to enjoy the diesel V8's growl- around the front of the Hummer.

He was one of the only people he knew whose head and shoulders came solidly above the hood of the Hummer, and took a smug satisfaction in that. Henry took a smug satisfaction in a lot of things, most especially the fact that he drove a truck that had been bought brand new for nearly $90,000. Wallace had been quite willing to indulge the increasingly-extravagant tastes of his sons as they entered their teenage years. A new Eagle Talon for Mark, a Vision for Henry, both the TSi performance model- their first cars. The Jeep Grand Cherokee (Limited) and the Hummer had been their reward for a truly outstanding first three years in high school. As a rising shareholder in Chrysler, Wallace could easily afford it- and it helped that Mark and Henry were close to a full foot taller than their father and were clearly stronger than him. Henry had a feeling that Wallace was a little scared of the blonde teen and his brother; that was fine. Henry liked it when people were scared of him. It made them more cooperative in all things, and it made Henry feel good. Mark liked it too, just the same. What else mattered if the two of them liked something- no matter what it was?

Crossing around the front of the black Hummer, Henry reached for the square latch that functioned as the door handle on each of the titanic SUV's doors. He stood back as he opened the door, bowing elegantly to his girlfriend- she loved it when he did things like this. "Ma'am," Henry said with an equally oily smile, "It is truly a pleasure to see you."

**XX**

Lisa laughed, richly enjoying the treatment she was getting. To feel like a VIP, like a princess or even a queen- that desire had stayed with Lisa long after her early childhood years had passed, and the then-typical interest of girls in princesses and unicorns went with it. Lisa believed herself to be a slender, blonde suburban princess, dressed in a t-shirt, jeans, and a suede jacket instead of the elegant dresses of her Medieval predecessors. The treatment Henry was giving her was just what she'd been wanting for years- but of course, she'd always known he'd be the one boy who treated her right. Henry was the perfect boyfriend, the iconic teenage gentleman. Lisa had heard about all that through the grapevine, seen it for herself over a distance. It still was really something to experience it for herself. Surprisingly, that succession of tramps, sluts, and other unworthy and undeserving claims to the title of "Henry Evans' Girlfriend" had actually been right about those things.

Imagine that, Lisa thought as she took Henry's offered hand and stepped down from the massive, growling truck- it had to be over two feet from the underside of the truck to the pavement, maybe more. Funny to think those ungrateful bitches were actually right in anything they said about Henry! Lisa felt herself practically tingling with excitement, though, as she faced her boyfriend beside his truck, right in front of her house. She'd been making steady progress with Henry lately, and had been thrilled beyond words when he'd invited her to Martin Brodinsky's party. If her friends around the social elite of Chamberlain High had been right about Henry so far, maybe they were right in what else they'd said about Henry. Everybody knew that the Evans brothers didn't like to drink or do pot at any of those parties- it posed too much of a risk to their elite status as athletes.

But all of Lisa's trusted confidants- in particular her best friends Nicole and Courtney- assured her of what they did like to do instead. The Evans brothers never did It in a car- they thought it too vulgar, too base. What were they, common teenagers, groping and kissing, even fucking in the backseat of a borrowed car? No. The Evans brothers had higher standards.

Lisa liked that, even appreciated it- and it so perfectly fit the vision she'd always had of Henry as a lover. He and Mark were famous as the elite of the most romantically-accomplished boys at Chamberlain; their appetite for sex- and their skill and finesse at it- were legend among the popular girls at the school. Cheerleaders who'd slept with them could talk to their friends about nothing else for days- they were tireless, skilled lovers, always up for a second (or third) round. Lisa was practically quivering with excitement. Tonight was going to be something truly special. This was gonna be it.

Henry leaned in and kissed her right then, abruptly forcing all other thoughts from her head. She had to fight against the urge to throw her arms around him, to embrace Henry and perhaps even invite him to fuck right there on the front lawn. When Lisa really liked a boy, she was willing to compromise. And when she was just thrilled beyond belief to even be in his presence, like she was with Henry… Lisa would probably have let him screw her all night long, damn near anyplace the muscular blonde liked.

Finally Lisa had to lean back a bit, hating herself for making the kiss end. _Time for that later_, she told herself sternly. _You need to get ready_. And with a thrill, the thought came again: _Tonight! This is it!_

"I'll only be a little while," Lisa promised with a smile, knowing Henry would probably wait patiently if she ended up taking an hour. She didn't intend to take any more time than was necessary, but Henry deserved the best. Lisa intended to take the finest shower she'd ever done in her life; she wanted every inch of her body to be like ivory cream, like soft, fine velvet. She wanted Henry to worship her body like she already worshipped his. It was incredible, how hard Henry made her try- to look and be better, in literally everything. She even found herself sitting up and truly trying harder in class now, knowing that Henry would be proud of her.

"Take as long as you need, Liz," the handsome blonde said, smiling warmly. "I love waiting on you."

"I love you," Lisa said, pecking him on the lips.

"I love you," Henry said, kissing her back, and suddenly he goosed her from behind.

"Ooh!" Lisa giggled, jumping away. "Come on, my folks are watching!"

"Okay, okay," Henry said, relenting after a moment. "Tell your mom I can kiss her if she wants. She's got a nice butt, too."

"Oh, Henry," Lisa said with mock reproach. "What am I supposed to do with you?"

Her boyfriend shrugged. "Hold me, feed me- never, ever leave me."

"I can't think of a reason to," Lisa said honestly. She felt dizzy just standing here; was all this truly real? Had this amazing boy really walked into her life like this, after three long years of waiting? It was like she was living a dream. The best she'd ever had; Lisa never wanted it to end.

"Hey," Henry said suddenly, with a furtive glance towards the house, "I gotta have a quick smoke." Seeing the look on Lisa's face, he added, "Don't worry, I'll have some mints before we go to Martin's. I'll just be a minute, then I'll come inside and say hi to your folks. All right?"

"Okay," Lisa said, aware again of how impossible it was for her to ever say no to Henry. "But only a minute, okay?"

"I'm counting the seconds," Henry said with a grin.

"My Mom told me that Dad was gonna be here when we showed up today. He's really been looking forward to meeting you."

"Yeah," Henry said with a shrug, starting to turn back to his truck, which was still growling fiercely as its powerful diesel idled. "I bet he has."

Once inside, Lisa said hi to her parents, barely able to conceal what a tremendous hurry she was in. How did she look- was she wearing the right clothes? How about her nails? And for God's sake, how was her hair? Once she'd managed to get upstairs, Lisa raced to grab her soap, lotions and conditioner, hurrying down the hall to the shower. Though she kept telling herself not to rush, Lisa ended up hurrying anyway. She barely caught herself as she slipped getting into the shower and almost broke her crazy neck.

**XX**

The muscular blonde teenager stepped back into the huge black Hummer without any real effort- in fact, he often felt like this was the only SUV in the world that had been built in a manner appropriate to his height. It made him wonder again about possibly going into the military- he certainly had the build he'd need and then some, and all the vehicles they used were built with "big" as a prominent word in mind.

Henry didn't really care to go inside and meet Lisa's father. He was indeed a successful car salesman, owner of Patterson Jeep-Eagle, no less. But Henry had heard that Lisa's father was rather protective of his daughter, and liked to give each of her new boyfriends "the talk" the day he met them. Henry had been avoiding that day on purpose, putting it off these two weeks- not because he was afraid or intimidated by the man, as the very idea was ridiculous- but because he was worried about what might happen if Mr. Doyle tried to intimidate him. Henry knew he was stronger than Mr. Doyle, knew it without ever having met him. He was stronger than fucking everybody, and a truly gifted student of the martial arts. Henry was afraid for Mr. Doyle, because if that fucking car salesman tried to intimidate Henry, the blonde might just lash out and kill him.

Reaching behind the steering wheel, to the right of the steering column, Henry took hold of the keys, switching off the engine and pocketing them. He considered actually using his excuse for sitting out here a minute- Henry was calming himself down, and didn't really need a cigarette- but at the last moment went against it. He wanted everything to be perfect tonight, and Lisa had told Henry he always tasted better if he hadn't just had a cigarette. Normally Henry wouldn't have given a damn what his girlfriend thought, but Lisa was a little special. She was easily the prettiest girl he'd ever dated, and was probably going to be an amazing lay. If Lisa wanted to ask a few extra things of Henry, that was fine. She was worth it.

One thing Henry made sure to remind himself of was the party that was coming up. He needed to focus on that. Martin Brodinsky, a sophomore on the Junior Varsity football team, had daringly offered his house to Henry for this upcoming Friday. His mother was going to visit family in Connecticut, and would not be back until Sunday. His parents were divorced, so only one parent was around anyway. Henry had talked it over with Mark, and sixteen-year-old Martin had all but jumped for joy when his offer was accepted. Henry knew just why, too. It made perfect sense that the sophomore was so excited. It wasn't because of the party itself, per se- as fun as that would be, Martin had to know about the aftermath. There would be empty beer cans and bottles all over the damn place, the smell of smoked weed and cigarettes would be everywhere, there'd be a million kinds of trash, come-stains on sheets, pillows, and- this had actually happened at least once- some kid might end up falling asleep in his own puke. The parties Henry and Mark held were wild and exciting like you wouldn't believe, but for the kid who acted as the host, there was one God-awful mess to clean up afterwards.

No, it wasn't the aftermath of the party that had Martin Brodinsky excited. Nobody ever got excited about that. What the sophomore probably was creaming his pants about- perhaps literally- was the benefits that came with being the party host. The Evans brothers were known all over Chamberlain High for their flat refusal to hold a party at their house. It just wasn't something they were willing to do, and nobody was about to call them on it. Besides, _both_ Wallace and Susan going out of town overnight was a rare thing indeed. Hosting parties was usually something a high school guy did on his way to the top, in the hopes that throwing a good party would help him get there. If you were already at the top of the social ladder, such things were beneath you. Henry found the idea of hosting a party at his own house distasteful- the place would inevitably get trashed, and the Evans house was a little too good for that. Plus, he and Mark probably would never have gotten around to throwing a party at their place- too many guys at school were willing to host one for them, hoping to enjoy the perks of volunteering for the job. Henry had to admit, he and Mark offered a good deal- the benefits really did outweigh the downsides.

In essence, Henry and Mark Evans were some of the most generous guys in town when it came to dealing with their party hosts. They were demanding, to be sure- a couple of days to a week before, either Henry or Mark would bring the kid acting as host this time a piece of paper. On that paper would be a list, specifying drinks, food, and music that needed to be present. The Evans brothers, who refused both alcohol and drugs because of their high-profile status as elite athletes, provided no assistance to the kid hosting the next party beyond telling him what needed to be there, and who would be coming. Actually getting all of the stuff on the list was the host's problem.

A lot of hard work came with setting up for a party and cleaning everything up afterwards, and Mark and Henry were known for their indifference to the mess and its consequences. So what if the host was too slow cleaning up, and his parents found out what he'd done when they got home? That wasn't Henry or Mark's problem. What made it all worth it, though, was what they did to repay the host for his decision to volunteer.

Henry couldn't help but laugh when he thought about the sweet deal he and his brother offered; it was too damn good to resist. Suppose the host kid had a favour he wanted to ask, something he needed help with. Did he have his eyes set on a set of new tires for his car, or a vintage bottle of wine at the liquor store? Was he perhaps crushing on a girl at school, hoping he could be her next boyfriend- and perhaps get lucky? Henry and Mark were known to be able to help with all those things. They seemed to have access to money, influence, and vintage liquor like no one would have believed. Henry had even hooked up one freshman at another school with a fellow freshman he had a crush on. That was the only time he talked to one boy on behalf of another- Henry had little tolerance for the concept of boys kissing or screwing each other, but that freshman had taken the initiative to not only host the party, but to call over to Henry and Mark's school and get in touch with them. The party had been amazing, so when the fifteen-year-old football player had quietly confided to Mark that he had a crush on a boy in his class, Henry had promised to see that the other kid find out- and wouldn't reject his classmate as a faggot.

That had been a year ago, and Henry had even kept the boy's secret- regardless of what had actually happened. It just went to show how rich the benefits were of even temporarily being in the Evans brothers' good graces. If you needed a favour- any favour- one of the best ways to go was hosting a party for the Evans brothers. But they had one other thing they always asked for, and this was a must- even more important than the drinks, the drugs and the entertainment- was two reserved rooms, one for Henry and one for Mark, upstairs in the host's house. Henry didn't bother saying why, and neither did Mark- the Evans brothers' insatiable sexual appetite was well-known, and no would-be host was dumb enough to ask or object. You would have the sheets on the bed- Henry and Mark both liked to have some fine silk ones sent over rather than trust whatever the host's house might have- and would clean up any mess left behind. It was just one more part of the deal, but- like all the other demands Henry and Mark made- was something you'd be richly rewarded for if you did everything right.

Finally, Henry knew he couldn't put this off any longer. He'd used the minute or two he had to sit out here, and under no circumstances could he let Lisa's prick father even suspect him of hesitance or cowardice. Actually, the man could suspect whatever he damn well pleased- Henry was starting to look forward to this "little chat" Mr. Doyle would surely want to have. A little late, given how- bluntly put- Henry was by now just savouring the last hour or two before he fucked Lisa Doyle all he wanted for the rest of the goddamn night. But hey- if either of the Doyle elders wanted to try scaring Henry into keeping his belt buckled tonight, they were welcome to it.

Henry got out of the Hummer and closed the driver's door, walking around the front of the truck and up the brick walk to the white Victorian house. He was in a spectacularly good mood today; all he had to think about was sticking it in Lisa tonight. That would probably help when he felt the temptation to brutally kill his girlfriend's father; Henry knew he would if Mr. Doyle made some laughable attempt at intimidating him. _For that alone_, Henry thought as he reached the Doyle's front door, _the stupid son of a bitch should be grateful_.

Mr. Doyle didn't know it, but Henry knew it for the both of them: Lisa's steadily-growing eagerness to please Henry was probably going to end up being the thing that saved the older man's worthless life. Maybe, while Lisa was upstairs rubbing lotion on every inch of her stunning, slender body- all the better so Henry would be happy with her tonight- Henry could remind Mr. Doyle of that if he didn't know it already. But that was what he did best.

_I'm Henry Evans_, the blonde thought as he knocked at the front door, _and I'm here to tell you the truth._

These idiots should've been thanking him for it.


	9. Chapter 9- Meeting Henry

**Chapter IX- Meeting Henry**

* * *

The front door of the Doyle household swung open to reveal Mrs. Christina Doyle, a slender woman whose resemblance to her daughter- and her still-attractive figure- was almost enough to catch Henry's eye. Had he not been dating Christina Doyle's daughter, Henry might have considered a weekend fling with her. Since he was dating Lisa, though, it wasn't likely that Henry could sleep with Mrs. Doyle without his girlfriend finding out about it. It was like Mark was fond of saying; there were too damn many good-looking women in the world. There just wasn't time to screw 'em all.

"Henry!" Christina Doyle said, her features lighting up as she caught sight of the blonde football and hockey player towering over her at the doorstep. Henry could tell she liked her daughter's latest boyfriend, and was perhaps even a bit smitten with him; Henry could tell when that was the case. A girl or woman who found Henry attractive tended to look at him for longer periods than was necessary otherwise, and- no matter what was going on- was always happy to see him. Mrs. Doyle stepped back as she opened the door wider, waving Henry in.

"Come on in, Henry," Mrs. Doyle said, smiling up at him still. "Lisa's upstairs getting ready. She'll be down in a bit." Lisa's mother wasn't short, standing at an average five-foot-eleven, but Henry topped her by almost a foot. Henry didn't think she minded, though; Mrs. Doyle was about eye level with his powerful arms and chest, and seemed to be enjoying the view. Henry wanted to laugh; charming Mrs. Doyle had almost been too easy. He'd only been going out with Lisa for two weeks, and already Mrs. Doyle thought he was just amazing.

_That's nothing compared to what Lisa thinks_, Henry reflected, _Or what she'll think after tonight_. Henry doubted there was even a word for it.

"Thanks, Mrs. Doyle," Henry said, smiling warmly as he stepped into the entrance hall of the Doyle house. His jeans and burgundy polo, chosen specially for the occasion, created a relaxed yet somewhat formal look. It was something he knew would give the right impression with Mrs. Doyle- who probably would have liked it better if Henry found some excuse to go shirtless- and hopefully, Mr. Doyle as well.

Once Mrs. Doyle closed the front door behind him, she invited him into the living room to talk while they waited for Lisa. Sitting down across from each other on the two dark red leather couches in the living room, the two talked amiably. Henry asked about how Mrs. Doyle was doing, how was everything in the Doyle household- and of course, were the new Eagles keeping up with the Jeeps in sales at Mr. Doyle's dealership. Henry liked asking about that not only to be polite, but as a subtle reminder of the fact that much of the Evans family's rising financial fortunes was due to Chrysler Corporation's success in recent years- and Wallace Evans owning 5% of the company.

It didn't quite mean Henry could say his dad was Mr. Doyle's boss… but it was damn close. Better, actually, because while Mr. Doyle might have owned a Jeep-Eagle dealership, Wallace Evans had a significant amount of say in deciding the future of the company. It made Henry feel superior to not only Mr. Doyle- who he was still waiting to meet- as well as everyone else in this household. Lisa was just a pretty toy, and Mr. and Mrs. Doyle the less fuckable accessories. He was just making the small talk he needed to so he could get them out of the way and give Lisa just what she'd been begging for.

_Better be gentle tonight_, Henry reminded himself. _If I'm not careful I might put her in a damn coma or something_.

Amused in spite of himself, Henry chuckled, then started upon realizing he had completely ignored whatever Mrs. Doyle had just been saying. Fortunately, from the way Mrs. Doyle glanced and smiled appreciatively at the blonde teen sitting across from her, she had probably been telling a joke or something.

"I think I'd better find Andy," Mrs. Doyle said, smiling at Henry- he really was such a nice boy, always polite and attentive in conversation- and getting up. "He's got his office down the hall, and he gets so busy in there, sometimes I have to remind him to come back out."

Henry smiled, laughing appreciatively. "I'll be here, Mrs. Doyle. It'll be nice to finally meet Lisa's dad."

"Oh, I know you two will get along just fine," Mrs. Doyle said confidently, turning to head out of the room. "Andy's heard _so_ much about you, Henry. He's been looking forward to meeting you."

_I bet he has_, Henry almost added, biting back the sarcastic reply at the last second. Instead, he just nodded politely, sitting patiently on the couch as he listened to Mrs. Doyle's footsteps echo on the hardwood floor of the hallway. Briefly Henry stretched out, spreading his arms to either side of him as he leaned back on the overstuffed leather couch. He heard the water running as Lisa took a shower upstairs- Henry found the mental image of his blonde girlfriend in the shower more than a little arousing- and the sound of Mrs. Doyle knocking on the door of her husband's office.

"Andy?" Mrs. Doyle said, and Henry heard a man's voice answer, "Yes, Christina?"

"Lisa's boyfriend Henry is here; he's in the living room."

"All right, Christina," Andy Doyle answered. "Just a moment."

And a few seconds later, there was the sound of a door opening, and another pair of footsteps joined Christina Doyle as she came back down the hall, returning into the living room. Andy Doyle was taller than his wife by perhaps three or four inches, and had a head of short-cut black hair just starting to turn iron gray. He wore a charcoal-black suit with the tie removed and the top button undone; most likely he had only recently gotten home. He was a fairly well-built man, in good shape for his age. Henry saw right away that Mr. Doyle was not as strong as the blonde adolescent who was now dating his daughter, and had to suppress a laugh at the thought. It was hardly an uncommon failing to not be as physically gifted as Henry Evans and his brother were. Henry fought to keep from smirking as he saw Mr. Doyle enter the room, eying the Herculean teenager warily- and as they locked eyes, perhaps making some effort to intimidate him. Henry stood up, though, and smiled in greeting as he held out a hand.

"Mr. Doyle, sir," Henry said smoothly, "Nice to finally meet you. Henry Evans."

Andy Doyle looked like he'd eaten something that disagreed with him. "Andy Doyle," he said, shaking Henry's hand and trying to take measure of the boy in front of him. "Nice to meet you, Henry." The head of the Doyle household didn't look like he really meant it, but Henry didn't care. He returned to his chosen couch as the Doyle elders sat down across from him, and the small talk resumed once more.

"Everything going well with the football team, Henry?" Mr. Doyle asked, entertaining a polite interest in one of Henry's favourite pastimes and trying not to gape at the teen's powerful-looking body. Every inch of him seemed sculpted from marble, chiseled to a kind of perfection only the ancient Greek gods had been able to attain. This boy looked stronger than most of the adult men Andy Doyle knew; briefly, he could see very easily where his daughter's attraction to Henry Evans had come from. But he'd heard of the Evans brothers before, and anyone connected to Chamberlain High School had gotten some wind of the boys' love for theatrics, money and girls. They were the premier playboys of Chamberlain High and not especially subtle about it.

Henry nodded, aware Mr. Doyle wasn't near half as charmed with him as Mrs. Doyle was. He had noticed how incredibly fit Henry was- everyone did- but was apparently refusing to do any more than notice. Mrs. Doyle was sitting beside her husband, observing the conversation- and perhaps, once in a while, running her eyes up and down Henry's upper body. Henry, seeing this, leaned forward and rubbed a hand on one powerful, tree trunk-like arm as he replied, causing Christina Doyle to blush and look away. "Going pretty well, sir," Henry said. "We've got tryouts going on right now, and a lot of workouts in the gym and practices on the field." He smiled briefly, thinking of how much fun he'd been having already, drilling the old hands like a professional DI and running the new ones even harder. "If we do like we did last year, we'll probably have another undefeated season."

"Your third year running, right?" Christina Doyle asked, and Henry nodded. "That's _very_ impressive, Henry," she said, and Henry smiled. "We try."

"And you have hockey in the spring, right?" Andy Doyle asked. Henry nodded once again; maybe Mr. Doyle wasn't a complete idiot. He'd been doing his homework, at the very least.

"Hockey's my favourite," Henry said. "It really should be given more attention in the United States. Of course, not everyone's as lucky as we are, up here in Maine. We can play hockey anywhere we like in the winter."

"That's true," Christina Doyle said. "I think you boys are gonna do great this year."

Henry smiled in appreciation. "Four years undefeated, Mrs. Doyle. Four years as the state champions. It's gonna happen. Mark and I never lose."

"Is it true you drive a Hummer, Henry?" Mr. Doyle asked, and at that he did sound genuinely curious. "Lisa goes on and on about that truck you have, but I haven't seen it myself yet."

_I bet there's some other things she'd rather talk about instead_, Henry thought, once again suppressing a smirk. That was certainly going to be true by the end of the day…

But instead of laughing in the man's face- like Henry knew he wanted to do- the blonde teen nodded his head once in affirmation. "Yes, it's true. It's a black '99 Hummer, the wagon." Pointing at the two windows of the living room, both facing the street, Henry added, "It's right out front if you wanna see it." Looking at Mrs. Doyle, Henry added, "My buddies call it the Beast."

Intrigued, Mr. Doyle got up and walked across the room to the window. Looking out through the blinds, he whistled, impressed in spite of himself. "Whoo! _Man_! That's some truck you got, Henry."

"Thanks, Mr. Doyle," Henry grinned, taking advantage of the chance to wink at Mrs. Doyle. It was shameless, really, how he flirted with Lisa's mother sometimes. But it wasn't every day Henry was dating a girl whose mother was also worth looking at twice. When the chance came to flirt with someone attractive- a girl or a woman- Henry never said no. You never knew when the chance to do more than just flirt would come along.

Christina Doyle for her part, blushed and covered her mouth with her hand, trying not to laugh. Henry was such a shameless flirter, and Christina liked it a little too much to actually get angry with Henry or tell him to stop.

Turning back from the window, Mr. Doyle looked over at his wife, who had just managed a graceful recovery just in time. "Christina," he said, "Do you think you could fix up some iced tea for the three of us? We probably have enough time for that before Lisa gets back down here." He considered. "Actually, make it four. I think Lisa would like a glass, too."

"Sure, Andy," Mrs. Doyle said, getting up. "How would you two like your tea? Sweetened or unsweetened?"

"Unsweetened," Mr. Doyle said, still standing by the window. "Henry?"

"Sweetened," Henry said, looking up at Lisa's mother.

Taking that moment as a chance for a graceful exit, Mrs. Doyle headed out of the room and down the hall to the kitchen.

As soon as she was out of the room, Mr. Doyle approached Henry with a hard look in his eyes. Henry, busy visualizing his girlfriend naked again, didn't notice Mr. Doyle until the older man's shadow fell over him. The blonde teen looked up to see his girlfriend's father standing just a couple feet away, clearly hoping to use height to his advantage with Henry sitting down.

Glaring down at Henry, Mr. Doyle spoke in a low, dangerous voice, looking the teenager straight in the eyes. "Don't think I don't know who you are, Henry."

The muscular teen didn't say anything. He just leaned back on the leather couch again, stretched out and relaxed, but watching the man in front of him closely.

"I was in high school once too," Mr. Doyle continued. "I knew guys who could act like gentlemen, but treated their girlfriends like toys. Things they could just play with and throw away whenever they wanted. You'd better treat Lisa right, Mr. Evans. I could make things real unpleasant for you if you don't."

_I'm gonna smash his head like a fuckin' pumpkin_.

That furious thought was the first one that entered Henry's mind, and he almost acted on it. It took an almost superhuman effort of will to keep himself from crossing the room and killing Mr. Doyle. And the act would have been too easy; Henry knew many ways to make it happen. He didn't need a gun, didn't need a hammer or bayonet. His own hands and feet were more than enough.

But Henry forced himself to remain calm, remembering that if he killed his girlfriend's father in his living room, there probably wouldn't be any pussy tonight. With that for an incentive, Henry calmed down a little.

Only a little, though.

After just a second or two of looking up at Mr. Doyle, his face impassive and his eyes giving away nothing, Henry suddenly stood up, crossing his powerful arms over his muscular, barrel-like chest. Now he stood over the older man, a full eight inches taller, as well as possessing a vastly broader frame and more muscular body. For a few seconds Henry remained silent, staring down at Mr. Doyle and letting the other man- the lesser man- appreciate the physical differences between them.

Then Henry did speak, his voice cold and harsh.

"_No_. You _couldn't_."

There was no explicit threat in those words, but the hard look in Henry's eyes and the steely tone in his words easily got the message across. The staring contest went on for maybe half a minute, and for a time Mr. Doyle tried to stand firm, refusing to be intimidated by this muscular giant of a boy. Finally, though, the angry look in his eyes faltered just slightly, and now it became a battle to save face. Andy Doyle started wondering just what Henry had in mind for his daughter at thus party they were going do. Then he realised it was pointless to speculate, because he was powerless to do anything about it anyway. Mr. Doyle didn't like that realization. It wasn't a good feeling.

Just then- and very fortunately for Mr. Doyle, who suddenly needed a way to back off without being embarrassed publicly as well as privately- Mrs. Doyle returned with a tray of four glasses of iced tea, and Lisa came bounding down the stairs. Henry's girlfriend was dressed in a new pair of faded jeans and an emerald-green sweater, both of which Henry had bought for her on a recent trip to her favourite Rockbridge clothing store. Her green eyes lit on Henry with a special kind of joy; she was all but literally glowing with excitement.

"Henry!" she cried, and there was no name more beautiful to her in the world. She ran into the room and Henry turned to meet her, sweeping her into his arms. They hugged closely, Henry enjoying the moment immensely. The way Lisa threw her arms around him, the feel of her blooming chest against his- it felt so damn good it was intoxicating. Making Lisa wait all this time had definitely been worth it.

"I love you," Henry whispered in her ear.

"I love _you_," Lisa whispered back.

"All right, you two," Mrs. Doyle said, setting the tray down on the coffee table between the two couches and shaking her head in good-natured reproof. Henry and Lisa separated, both looking a little embarrassed. Lisa began to fidget with her strawberry-blonde hair, wondering again if she'd conditioned and brushed it right, but Henry just caught her hand and gave a little shake of his head.

_You look fine_, his expression said, and Lisa smiled. Henry was so good to her.

Mr. Doyle, almost forgotten by now, moved over to rejoin his wife, grateful for a chance to back away from this powerful, fearsome boy. He still didn't like Henry Evans- if anything Andy Doyle now liked the teen even less- but he now had reason to fear him, and he didn't care for that at all. It was like he was only just noticing how strong Henry was, how every inch of him seemed to ripple with powerful, finely-sculpted muscle. Andy Doyle began wondering how he hadn't seen that before, why he'd been crazy enough to even try intimidating this adolescent in the first place.

"So do you two want to head out now," Mrs. Doyle said, "or can you spare a few minutes to sit and enjoy a little iced tea?"

Leading Lisa over to sit close- very close- to him on the leather couch where he'd been before, Henry smiled graciously at Mrs. Doyle. "There's always time for tea, Mrs. Doyle. We've definitely got time for that." Looking to his girlfriend for confirmation, Henry said, "Right, Lisa?"

"Sure," Lisa said, her head swimming with love for this amazing boy. She finally had him all to herself, after waiting for three years. It had already been worth the wait, and by far was the most exciting relationship she'd ever been in after only two weeks.

And she knew Henry pretty well by now, was already getting to know firsthand his generosity, his incredibly passionate and romantic way of treating girlfriends. And Nicole Miles, a best friend of Lisa's who had gotten the cold shoulder from her for the four months she'd dated Henry, assured Lisa that Henry was not shy about taking things to the next level. He gave things a little time- usually one "base" or more every week- with the "home run" happening within a month. The best part, Lisa said, was the insatiable appetite Henry had for sex once the relationship got that far. It was like every day, every afternoon after school when one of the couple's parents weren't home, Henry wanted to go all the way. And every time- every single time, Nicole said- it was like you literally went from the Earth to Heaven and back again.

Lisa wasn't surprised at the gushing, even-now-amazed comments Lisa made about those afternoons and evenings. Every detail Nicole specified, her declaration that Henry was jaw-droppingly handsome with his clothes off, that he could go for about as long as the girl he was with cared for- every bit of it matched what Lisa had always imagined about this gorgeous boy now sitting beside her on the couch. She had hated Nicole while she and Henry had been going out, but now relied on her as a confidant and source of information. She needed to know what Henry liked, how he wanted his girlfriend to act. Nicole had assured Lisa that as long as you were good-looking enough for him to take an interest in you, it was easy. In any part of a relationship- at dinner, at the mall, or in bed- Nicole said that Henry preferred girls who were on the submissive side, who let him take charge and make the decisions. That was just fine with Lisa. She was so blown away by the mere fact that she was dating Henry Evans, she probably couldn't have tried to be the boss of this relationship if she wanted to.

Which was very strange, had Lisa stopped to think about it- normally she was bossy, arrogant and extremely hard to please, with boys and girls equally. Henry had somehow caused an almost total reversal in her behavior in a relationship. Here he was the one in charge, and Lisa was the one constantly trying to please him.

"Babe."

Lisa jumped when Henry poked her in the side, and he laughed- sweetly, not at her expense- when he saw he'd startled Lisa out of her own thoughts.

"Drift off a bit, Lisa?" Mr. Doyle asked, making an effort to smile. Lisa noticed he looked a bit on the pale side. Maybe he wasn't feeling so well today.

Then Lisa noticed Henry was holding a glass of iced tea, offering it to her. Lisa next saw that while her parents had both taken a glass off the tray sitting on the coffee table, Henry's still sat there untaken. Henry was giving Lisa her glass before taking his own- typical of him to think of her first.

"Thanks," Lisa said, taking the glass and drinking some of it. It was sweetened iced tea, just as she always liked it.

"I made sure it was sweet," Henry said, noticing Lisa's pleased expression. "Just like you."

Lisa wanted to groan at those corny words, but Henry was so romantic about these things she could only smile at him, even as her mother chuckled.

The four of them talked amiably, taking maybe ten or fifteen minutes to work their way through the iced tea. Henry put his arm around Lisa after a few minutes, casting a glance at Mr. Doyle to see what he thought of it. But Andy Doyle suddenly found his wife's commentary about the weather fascinating, and had turned to look at her as she talked. Henry couldn't quite hid a slight smirk; the man was learning, all right. He wasn't _completely_ stupid.

At 4:40, though, Henry looked at his watch and finished the last of his iced tea. "Come on, Lisa," he said gently. "My brother said everybody's gonna start showing up at 5."

"Okay!" Lisa said, hoping she didn't look too eager. She drained what was left of her glass in one gulp, setting it down on the tray beside Henry's.

The four of them stood and made their way to the door, and Henry graciously thanked both of Lisa's parents for letting them go out this Friday night. "We'll be back by eleven," Henry promised. "And I'll tell you what, Mrs. Doyle. If Lisa's not smiling from ear to ear when we get back, I'll eat my truck's tires."

"Now, _that'd_ be something to see!" Mrs. Doyle said, she and her daughter laughing together. "You guys have a great time."

"We will," Henry assured her, and Lisa nodded in agreement. Both teens knew what kind of a "good time" was on the other's mind. Whether the Doyle elders had any idea wasn't all that important; Henry had told them what they needed to know about this party, and no more. Henry was amazingly persuasive when he wanted to be, and Lisa had never seen them permit her going to such a party as easily as they had this time.

Politely bidding farewell to Lisa's parents, Henry gently took his slender, stunningly attractive girlfriend by the hand and lead her out the door. Watching from the doorway, Christina Doyle sighed contentedly, not the least bit concerned about how the evening would go. Henry had said they'd be back by eleven, and so they would be. There was nothing more that Christina Doyle needed to hear; she knew her daughter was in good hands. "Oh, Andy," she said, looking over at her husband, "I'm just _so_ glad Lisa found somebody like Henry. He's such a _wonderful_ boy."

Still feeling shaken and a little fearful even now- it wasn't every day you had a teenage boy built like a tank standing barely two feet from your face- Andy Doyle just nodded, hoping his enthusiasm didn't look forced. "Yeah," Andy Doyle said reluctantly, not quite having the heart to tell his wife about this other side of Henry Evans. Or maybe being afraid to, for fear of what Henry would do if he found out about it. "Yeah," the head of the Doyle household said again. "He's great."


	10. Chapter 10- The Party: I

**Chapter X- The Party: I**

* * *

The party was already underway by the time Henry and Lisa got there; the small number of cars parked near the front lawn betrayed the crowd of teenagers that were inside. Knowing that if they were too obvious about it a neighbor might come over or the cops might be called, the party-goers had again taken some wise precautions. Blinds were down and curtains drawn over all the windows, and the music was kept to a low enough volume that the neighbors couldn't hear it. Much. And while more than ten teenagers of various grades and social stature were here, virtually all of them had parked their cars down the street, or even in another neighborhood close by. Only a privileged few got to park out front, and only Mark's blood-red Grand Cherokee stood in the driveway.

Henry steered a wide half-circle as he guided the massive Hummer into the Brodinsky's paved, inclined driveway. In just a few moments, he drove up it and curved left, parking in the wider space at the top, right beside his brother Mark's Jeep. Henry shut off the engine, and the diesel's steady growl dwindled into silence.

"You know," Lisa said as she looked at her boyfriend, "the one thing I don't like about the Hummer's engine? It's loud. Makes it kinda hard for us to talk when we're goin' somewhere, you know?"

"Who said anything about _talking_?" Henry grinned, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening his door, hopping down from the truck. Looking across the divided front row of the truck's interior at Lisa, Henry got a coy look on his face. "I kind of had other stuff in mind, Liz."

Lisa laughed as Henry shut the driver's door, waiting patiently as Henry- as always- crossed around the front to let her out of the truck. Lisa unbuckled her seat belt as Henry opened the front passenger door, taking Henry's hand as he bowed to her. The minute Lisa stepped down from the truck, Henry began his attack, kissing her deeply and passionately feeling her up.

"Stop it!" Lisa protested weakly, giggling like a little schoolgirl as Henry kissed her about the neck, holding her close. Henry just placed a hand behind Lisa's head and gave her a deep, passionate kiss, leaning in and silencing her in an instant. She moaned softly when Henry slipped his other hand under her sweater, exploring her chest. "Henry," she gasped finally, breaking away."Henry!"

The blonde teenager looked back at his girlfriend, almost truly puzzled. "What?" Henry said, now feeling up Lisa's behind as he kissed her softly about the neck again. "What is it?"

"Henry," Lisa said, losing her will to protest with every second, "We gotta go _inside_."

"What?" Henry said, looking at her and frowning in mock confusion. "Don't you wanna do it in the driveway?"

"The neighbors will see us!" Lisa protested.

"So what?" Henry shrugged, kissing her again. "Let 'em watch."

"Henry!"

"Okay, okay," Henry said, reluctantly halting his attack. He looked at her with mock sternness, adding, "I'm not waiting long, though."

"I don't want you to," Lisa said, and at those words Henry kissed her again.

"I love it when you say that."

Finally they made it inside the house, and both teens were immediately assaulted by a wave of sound; in the living room to the left and the kitchen to the right, there were stereos set up and blasting party music. The kitchen was also the dining room, and Henry noticed that the table and chairs had been moved off to the side, turning the open space into a dance floor. There was a crowd of teenagers in either room, mostly juniors and seniors, with a few bewildered- but _very_ excited- sophomore or even freshman boys mixed in.

Henry and Mark sometimes extended invitations to underclassmen, using underclassmen themselves as errand boys to send the word out, like messengers of two kings. They were too important to walk up to underclassmen themselves, however good an impression some of them might have made. The freshmen and sophomore boys- the athletes in particular- were Henry and Mark's messenger boys and informants, running errands and talking to people when the Evans brothers were too important to do it themselves. Some of the most popular freshmen and sophomores were also the most two-faced and materialistic, mimicking Henry and Mark's love for expensive, outrageously extravagant things. And they would sell out anyone if it meant gaining favour with the Evans brothers; it always paid to tell Henry and Mark something they wanted to hear. _Always_.

There was a marble-topped counter with stools lined up in front of it, and Henry smiled when he looked over and saw Anthony Summers behind the counter, playing the role of bartender. He was grinning from ear to ear as he moved around, serving drinks with a wide variety of beer, wine and vodka at his disposal. Anthony's personal favourite, Henry remembered, was the "Screwdriver", a mix of orange juice and vodka, and right now he was serving one of those to- of all people- Martin Brodinsky.

At that Henry frowned. After all the trouble he was going through hosting this party, taking the chance of volunteering with his parents out of town for the weekend, Martin deserved to have a good time tonight. But no fucking senior- especially a buddy of Henry's like Anthony Summers- was gonna be acting as the damn bartender. That was something Martin or some other puny little underclassman ought to be doing.

"How'd you like a drink, Lisa?" Henry said, courteously turning to his girlfriend. She glanced wistfully upstairs- Henry had to fight to hide a grin when he saw that- but smiled, nodding. "Sure," she said. "I'll have one. How about one of those vintage wines you and Mark are always coming up with?"

"Why not?" Henry said, and they headed over to the bar.

Henry came up behind Martin Brodinsky as they approached, grabbing the back of his shirt and jerking him off his stool just as he was greedily gulping down the orange juice and vodka. Martin coughed and sprayed the drink back out on the counter, angrily spinning around to see who it was. He swayed a bit as he turned, already a little drunk, but indignant rage sparked in his eyes. "Hey, what the hell, man? What the fuck, you fuckin'-" Abruptly he stopped, his brown eyes discerning Henry. His anger suddenly faded, leaving the scene in a big hurry; now Martin looked thrilled at having been jerked off a stool and made to waste part of his drink.

"Henry!" Martin exclaimed, his slightly-arched black eyebrows- same colour as his buzz-cut hair- going up as his features now proclaimed what a pleasant surprise this was. "What's up, man?"

"_You_ should be behind the counter serving drinks," Henry said pointedly. "Not Tony."

The sophomore wilted a little in the face of this giant senior staring down at him; he promptly scurried around the side of the counter and joined Anthony Summers, who looked surprised for a moment and then shrugged as Martin talked to him. Finally, Anthony came around the side of the counter, slapping palms with Henry.

"Dude!" Anthony said, grinning widely. "What's up?"

"Plenty," Henry said honestly, turning aside for a moment to sit Lisa down at one of the open stools. Martin hurriedly grabbed a towel and cleaned up the mess he'd made; like any other aspiring popular kid at Chamberlain, Martin never complained when Mark or Henry shoved him around. In fact, when Henry did something like jerking Martin off the stool, Martin not only never got angry about it, he would apologize for any mess he'd made and clean it up like it was his fault rather than Henry's. It was the way things worked.

Henry and Anthony both took seats to Lisa's left, Henry putting an arm around his girl as she sipped at the vintage wine she'd ordered Martin to get. Henry could tell she enjoyed telling the lean, gangly sophomore what to do- Lisa was the type of girl who expected boys to attend to her every need, whether she was dating them or not. Well, all boys except Henry. She never told him to do anything.

"So," Henry said, leaning up on the counter and turning to talk to his friend, "How's the evening gone so far?"

Anthony grinned again. "Oh, _dude_," he laughed, "It's gone _great_. I got here early and had a nice long fuck in the basement with Rachel." He picked up a bottle of beer and took a swig of it; unlike Henry and Mark, Anthony was pretty cavalier about his drinking. He never had so much he couldn't drive home, but even if he got busted for a DUI, one of the Evans brothers would probably have just bailed him out anyway. "Well," Anthony went on, "Rachel's dancing right now, teasing a couple of the underclassmen from the football team. I swear, if she _fucks_ one of 'em I'm gonna slap her."

"You want me to make her sorry she ever lived, just let me know," Lisa offered, taking another sip of her drink. She liked Rachel all right, but Rachel had fucked Mark Evans once. _More_ than once, actually, which was more than enough excuse for Lisa to hate her, even if Lisa'd always had eyes for Henry.

"Anything for a friend, man," Henry said, nodding in agreement with his girlfriend.

Anthony laughed, taking a gulp from his beer again. "No, that's all right," he said. "After a stallion like me, Rachel probably wouldn't notice one of those pencil-dick freshmen anyway."

Henry chuckled; that was probably true. Well, it hadn't been for him or Mark when they were freshmen. Even in those days, both teenagers had been remarkably well-endowed below the waist. Once word about that got around among the junior and senior-year girls, Mark and Henry's luck with them had only gotten better.

Looking up and down the bar, he saw a variety of familiar faces; Jason was there, his arm around Susan Lee, an attractive cheerleader of Korean descent and yet another of his picks on the cheerleading squad. Henry felt no envy; he'd dated her in junior year and already had her enough to get bored. That was the thing with Henry; he was never just content with regular sex with one girl, even a real hot one. He wanted to screw every hot girl he could get his hands on, and Mark, he knew, saw it the same way. For them, screwing girls was like invading countries must have been for Napoleon and Hitler. The more you had, the more conquests you could list and boast about, the better off you were and the more famous you became. Henry was also aware that his and Mark's reputation for loving girls and leaving them just made the rest more eager to please. It was like each new girlfriend either of them had was determined to prove she was better than all the rest- that she, unlike them, could be the one to keep Mark/Henry for good.

Jason looked like he was warming up to Susan, and she to him; they'd been dating since late this past summer. Henry wanted to come by and wish him good luck, reminding Jason that he'd already "loosened her up" some for him. Jason would hate to be reminded of that; he seemed to have some secret resentment for a lot of things Henry and his brother did. Jason seemed to basically resent the fact that he wasn't the top dog at Chamberlain, which was all the more reason why Henry enjoyed rubbing it in now and then.

The blonde teenager spotted the new guy- the lean, athletic Chris Marshal- making another bold move. He was out on the dance floor, his movements clearly of more enthusiasm than skill. But he was doing well, Henry could see; more than one pretty girl was eying him with newfound interest. John LaFleur- the only boy besides Anthony and Mark towards whom Henry felt no animosity whatsoever, was on the dance floor as well. His girlfriend since this past May, Cindy Howell, was another ex of the Evans brothers; this stunning beauty of a cheerleader with her long, jet-black hair had actually been with both of them. She'd dated Mark for several months, and Henry had enjoyed her once or twice at a party. Right now, Cindy was performing a modern dance move known as "grinding", in which she pressed her behind close to John's crotch and rubbed it around sensually. John looked like he was enjoying himself immensely, and Henry could easily see why.

Maybe John would be getting lucky tonight; Henry shrugged, turning back to the bar and wishing his artificial-blonde friend well. John had always been faithful to Henry and Mark. He'd always known his place as Number Two, and never once looked like he was secretly pissed about it, like Jason sometimes did. Henry was sure Jason believed that neither of the Evans brothers knew what he actually thought of them. Jason was just so fucking fond of himself, he probably thought he was MI6 material or something. John LaFleur wasn't like that. With his finely-toned muscles, fair, almost delicate skin and dyed-yellow hair, John was a surfer kid living too far north. The look worked even here, though, as John's success with the ladies so clearly proved. He was a kind boy, too, and not as arrogant or pushy as Jason could be.

John had started dating Cindy out of not just an attraction to her, but probably also a wish to make things better for her after Mark so plainly dumped her once the sex got boring. Henry didn't see things the way John apparently did- he didn't give a shit if dumping some bitch made her cry at night or not- but he appreciated having the artificial-blonde around, if only to make Henry and Mark look softer and more compassionate by comparison. But John richly enjoyed the benefits of being one of the most popular boys at his school; he was wealthy, hot, and regularly fingering or fucking some first-class pussy. He wasn't about to give all that up, not for anything. Henry wondered if John, being who he was, noticed the cold and cruel things Henry and Mark did to people sometimes. Did it bother John that both Henry and Mark shoved kids around in the halls, roughed a few up once in a while, and slept with one girl after another like they were going through tissues?

Maybe it did, maybe it didn't. But Henry knew John LaFleur was just a little too smart to let his conscience talk louder than his penis. John would be staying loyal until the end of their days at Chamberlain High, and then he'd probably go on to being a kickass hockey player in college. He'd probably always figure Henry and Mark to be some of his best-ever friends, remembering their stunning growth as teenagers and the immense popularity they gained. John would never know of the beatings Henry and Mark gave out now and then, or of the repeat murders- and in the case of attractive female victims, rapes and murders- they'd committed. He'd go on through life, a happy, popular boy, never even suspecting who the boys who'd made him so popular in the first place really were.

That was fine with Henry. For some reason or another, he didn't mind at all. As long as John LaFleur stayed loyal, Henry felt no reason to interfere with the future John had ahead of him. If nothing else, John had listened to Mark about Henry when he didn't know the former, and had no reason to like or trust the latter. He'd decided to be Henry's friend when- besides Mark- Henry had none at all. That counted for something with Henry. Enough, at least, that he could let John live his life uninterrupted and unharmed. Just as long as he kept doing what he'd been doing- staying loyal and asking no questions.

Anthony slapped Henry on the shoulder- an act most any other boy would have been painfully beaten for even attempting- and said, "Hey, man, I'll catch you later, Henry. I'm gonna go find Rachel soon- time for round two."

"Don't get her pregnant," Henry replied, and Anthony laughed again.

"I remembered my condoms."

Henry about winced at that; he hated even hearing the word. He never _once_ had used the goddamn things. All he bothered with was a bottle of "morning after" pills. Mark and Henry had established that policy back in the 9th grade. No matter what the ads tried to tell you, both brothers agreed that doing It was a lot more fun without bothering with the c-word. And it wasn't just about the physical pleasure, which both of them naturally wanted to make the most of. It was about the idea of lessening your own enjoyment for fear of knocking up the girl, which naturally neither Henry nor his brother gave a shit about. If one of his girlfriends ever told him she was pregnant, Henry figured he'd just punch her in the stomach. Maybe give her neck a good twist and kill her. But either way, he wouldn't be a father unless it was what he wanted. Unless that was what was in the cards- and Henry was always stacking the deck in his favour. And Mark's.

The Italian-American playboy finished his beer and moved off into the house, a bit drunk but not enough that he'd get pulled over. It was a fine line to walk, to be sure- and it was one Anthony Summers liked to think he was walking just about every day of his life. Plus, Anthony was pretty sure that while Henry and Mark would indeed bail him out if he ever got busted for drinking and driving, he'd get punched in the face afterwards. It was just to skip that part. Henry and Mark didn't punch lightly.

Just then Lisa finished her cup, setting it down on the counter and standing up. She moved behind Henry and gently set her hands on his broad shoulders.

"Henry," she cooed in his ear, gently trying to get his attention. "Henry."

"Yeah, Liz?"

"That kid Martin says he's got a room all fixed up for us upstairs. Wanna go check it out?"

Henry turned around, grinning widely. "You know, I was about to say we should do that. But fuck the room." He eyed her hungrily, his eyes running up and down Lisa's slender frame. "I think I'd rather check _you_ out."

Laughing warmly, Lisa took Henry's hand as they headed away from the bar, back out of the kitchen-and-dining-room and towards the darker regions of the second floor. A couple night-lights were on so romantically-inclined couples could see while searching for an open room, but nothing else. The rooms were completely dark. Henry led Lisa towards the one that had been reserved for him, marked as such with a small note card reading "H.E." taped to the door. As he flipped on the light and looked around, Henry noted this room was clearly a guest room. It looked clean and for the most part empty; Martin might have cleaned it himself just the other day. As Henry had ordered, the fine silk sheets he'd brought over from home early this week were on the bed- Henry wanted nothing but the utmost comfort for himself and his partner. The silk really did feel awesome, and Henry knew whatever girl he was fucking at a given party would love that.

_Speaking of which_, Henry thought, and wordlessly turned to Lisa and kissed her. Moaning softly, she threw her arms around him and kissed him back. Barely pausing to close the door, Henry returned his attentions and affections to Lisa, helping her pull off her sweater and t-shirt as they got closer to the bed. They were kissing constantly, passionately, their hands caressing each other's bodies. With Henry's help Lisa unbuckled her bra, tossing it aside to join the steadily-growing pile of clothes at the end of the bed. Then Henry stepped back and pulled off his shirt, smirking at the audible gasp Lisa gave as she saw her boyfriend shirtless for the first time. Her eyes scanned over him as if recording _everything_ for memory- which, to be fair, she was. The eight-pack, anvil-hard abs, the paving-slab like pecs, the broad, muscular shoulders and huge, thick biceps- Henry's torso alone was a girl's dream- her wildest, most incredible sexual fantasies- come true.

Then Henry unbuckled his pants, unzipped his fly and dropped his jeans to the floor, stepping out of them and planting his feet on the floor. For a moment Henry paused there, hands on his naked hips like a teenage Colossus, just letting Lisa look at him. From where she lay on the bed, Lisa went more wide-eyed still. "I…uh… Wow." She just shook her head in amazement. "Just '_wow_'."

"You don't look so bad yourself," Henry smirked, eying Lisa's naked torso hungrily. In just a few moments he had her jeans off as well, and just seconds later Henry was hovering over Lisa in bed, spreading her legs apart and pushing himself in. As he started, she began to alternately gasp and moan, clutching Henry's broad back and repeatedly saying his name. It went on for more than a few minutes; by the end she was shouting it. That, and "Oh, God". She cried that a lot, too.

Afterwards, Henry lay on the bed with the silk sheets hugging him softly at the back, and Lisa's soft, slender body pressed up against him at the front. She had her head laid against his chest, resting with him under the covers. And secretly hoping Henry would be up for round two soon.

Suddenly, though, Lisa whispered something Henry hadn't quite expected to hear.

"I did Jason Morgan once."

Henry was startled, but after a moment resumed stroking her hair, considering inwardly whether it was time to get pissed off or not. But instead he just kept her snuggled against him, loving the feel of her. "Oh, really?" Henry said, his voice not at all betraying the first hints of anger he felt. "At a party or something?"

"Yeah," Lisa said, sounding nervous. "It was just a one-night stand."

"So why are you telling me this?" Henry asked; part of him _was_ genuinely curious about that.

Speaking truthfully, Lisa raised her head slightly and looked at her boyfriend. Gazing right into his blue eyes, Lisa said quietly, "You're bigger than he is. I just thought you'd like to know that."

Henry relaxed, smiling as he thought about that piece of information. Lisa was right; he _did_ like knowing that. It was just one more piece of evidence to affirm what Henry already knew- that he was better than Jason Morgan and everyone else around him, and always would be. Well, everyone except Mark. The auburn-haired teen was the only equal Henry knew he would find, no matter where he went in the world.

Then Lisa spoke again, sounding a little nervous once more. She didn't want to ruin a good thing, was rightly fearful of igniting Henry's anger, but had to say this too. "You never use a c-"

"No." Henry's voice was matter-of-fact, but a little harsh, warning Lisa not to ask too many questions.

"Well," Lisa began hesitantly, "Do you usually finish, you know, and not, like, pull out?"

"I got pills for that," Henry said impatiently, thankful for once to be telling the truth. "Stop fucking worrying."

"I'm sorry," Lisa said, sounding genuinely remorseful, and Henry relaxed a little, delighting in the feel of Lisa's slender body pressed up against him. "I just- I can't get pregnant, you know?"

"Yeah," Henry said indifferently. "That would be inconvenient." He paused, then added, "The part where you _make_ a baby sure is fun, though."

Then Lisa smirked a little, pressing herself a little closer against her boyfriend's chest. "Speaking of which," she whispered with a smile, "You up for round two?"

"I was just about to ask _you_," Henry grinned, kissing her. Moments later they started again. Lisa was on top the second time, and the effort seemed to really tire her out; she fell asleep on Henry's chest soon after their second round. "That was _amazing_", Lisa whispered, and Henry just smiled- it was a compliment he was used to hearing from girlfriends. Henry briefly wondered how a girl like Lisa- who Henry knew had slept with a couple boys before him, probably imagining each of those lesser boys was Henry the whole time- could be so tired after only two rounds, but then remembered each of them had lasted more than ten minutes. That was a lot more than most girls his age were used to- not to mention, every one of those two ten-minute rounds had been _very_ intense.

Henry was good at that; he had such strength and stamina, he felt like he could literally have sex _all night_ if it wasn't for his girlfriends getting sweaty and tired. Maybe Henry could get Lisa used to a man- and he _was_ a man, not some kid who could get a boner- with his kind of endurance, and the couple could eventually graduate to doing It for as many rounds as Henry cared for. Lisa would indeed be going home with a grin on her face- she'd been moaning so much during the two rounds that Henry thought she was gonna wake the whole damn neighborhood. For his part, Henry lay there with Lisa's slender form in his arms, thinking that this had to be one of the best fucks he'd _ever_ had. This was one of the only times he'd enjoyed himself _nearly_ as much as he did with a rape. Yes, regular sex with his latest girlfriend was a great deal of fun, and Henry could easily tell that he'd be getting that from Lisa just as long as he wanted it.

But picking up some hot college girl, giving her a ride to Fleetwood Hall, sharing her with Mark and then leaving her in the house- _nothing_ was sweeter than that. It was sex and murder all in one, and Henry didn't even care that his brother sat there watching him while he fucked this girl- sometimes restraining her boyfriend and making him watch, too, if she had one present. It was pleasurable in more than one way for Henry, and it caused the girl- and anyone with her- great fear and pain. Henry knew his brother saw this the same way; you could tell from the wide grins on both teens' faces once they broke the victims' neck(s) on those occasions and headed home for the night.

Henry reflected on how nice he'd been to Lisa tonight, how generous. He hadn't even told Lisa to worship at the feet of her new God- Henry- before he gave it to her. In the future, that would need to change. Henry didn't want Lisa's love for him, her desperate desire to finally have him all to herself, to end or even lessen now. He wanted to keep her wanting him, keep her worshipping no one in her life but Henry Evans. Next time she'd probably have to do some begging first, maybe give Henry some quality head to get him into the mood. Henry looked forward to making Lisa beg like that; right along with regular sex, the worship and adulation of others was something Henry demanded regularly.

After maybe an hour and a half Henry got bored. He abruptly decided he wasn't just going to ride out the rest of this party with his girlfriend sleeping. Henry gently woke Lisa up and began making out with her, and again he could see she was enjoying it immensely. It was going to be so much fun to see her begging for it- and maybe it was time to start practicing that now. Glancing for an instant at his watch- plenty of time was left still before he needed to drive Lisa home- Henry moved backwards, kissing Lisa as he went. He kissed her softly, passionately, touching and feeling her neck, her chest, her smooth, pale belly. Then Henry pushed Lisa's smooth, slender legs apart, lowered his head, and started "eating her out"; it was basically the way you gave "head" to a girl.

It might have been a little weird as far as timing went- Henry's _penis_ had just been in her, after all- but she tasted great anyway. And Henry could tell it was driving Lisa crazy. She was enjoying it immensely, but she wanted more than Henry's tongue. She wanted _him_, and by the time Henry finally did start their third round, the one that was by far his best performance all night, Lisa was literally _begging_ Henry to do it. Henry was pleased to hear that; he looked forward to Lisa doing a lot more of it. The experience would be good for her.

Once the third round was over, Lisa rested again, sweaty and exhausted. But she was grinning from ear to ear, heaping compliments on Henry like he was the new God of her world. Which, to be fair, Henry knew he was. Eventually Lisa quieted down as she fell asleep again; Henry figured he'd give it a while before he woke her. He wanted to savor the evening as it had gone so far. Pleased with his success tonight, Henry let his mind wander for a while, reliving constantly the great feeling the three rounds had given him. Briefly, Henry wondered where Mark was- he hadn't seen him inside the house yet- and if his night was going as well as Henry's.


	11. Chapter 11- The Party: II

**Chapter XI- The Party: II**

* * *

Mark sat at the makeshift bar, no drink in his hand- he refused them always, not liking the loss of control it brought you- glowering down at the marble countertop. He was in a terrible mood, and had been all night- even chain-smoking three cigarettes on the Brodinskys' back porch hadn't helped. He seemed to have missed Henry. Mark had gotten here before his brother, and had expected that; Henry was going to be meeting with both of Lisa's parents before coming over here tonight, and that was bound to take a while. Mark had been out in the backyard when Henry had shown up- nobody else had a fucking black Hummer, after all. He hadn't quite been in the mood to talk to his brother, though, and he knew Henry would be quite preoccupied with Lisa anyway. This was one of the few times Henry and Mark were routinely separated; parties were one of the only places they could regularly expect to fuck their girlfriends, and both of them understandably preferred to have that time in private. Raping a pretty female hitchhiker was the only time Henry and Mark did something like that together, and even then they took turns.

Besides, Mark couldn't have taken the time to talk to Henry at the time he'd shown up anyway. At that time, Mark was on his cell phone with Amy, conducting his conversation at a half-shout. Mr. and Mrs. Philips had denied Amy permission to go to the party. They'd read between the lines and realized this was an unsupervised party, and that there was a solid chance alcohol and drugs would be there. Mark had not said anything about any of that, but unfortunately there were only so many lies he could tell to explain why they'd be gone so many hours on a Friday night. But the Philips elders had stood firm, and Mark had quickly made as graceful and exit as he cold to avoid causing one or both of Amy's parents serious harm. He drove to the Brodinsky house in a rage, and once there was on the phone with Amy for almost an hour. Finally, though, she'd calmed him down, literally begging him to forgive her and close to tears. This wasn't her fault, Amy said over and over, and mentioned that after he'd left, her parents had at least given permission for them to go on that skiing trip Henry had planned for the two couples tomorrow.

That mollified Mark somewhat; or at the very least, it made him less homicidal, less willing to shatter someone's skull for therapeutic purposes. That didn't mean he wasn't pissed off, though, well over an hour later; on the contrary, Mark had barely calmed down at all. He'd been told "no" by his girlfriend's parents, denied the all-night fuck he knew he needed and Amy was hoping for- it was infuriating. The next time somebody told Mark no was gonna be the last _that_ person ever did.

After a moment, Mark thought of those words again; that was a good idea! He got up from the bar and started heading along the edge of the dance floor, surveying the entire kitchen and dining room. After a few moments he found what he was looking for. There were chairs set up in some of the corners and along the edges of the room, set up in pairs to give couples a chance to take a break from dancing, or have a drink together if the bar-stools were full. In one corner at the far end of the room, Mark spotted a popular preppy kid, Michael Whiteman, leaning in and kissing his attractive girlfriend, Sarah Schreuder. Sarah was one of those preppy girls who was above-average in looks and social standing, but never quite caught the eye of either Mark or his brother before. She had a slender, attractive frame, wore jeans and a brand-name t-shirt most of the time, and had shoulder-length, hazel-brown hair.

Mark suddenly knew how he was going to vent his displeasure, how he was going to make up for all the Philips elders had done to ruin his night. The auburn-haired teen set Sarah Schreuder in his sights, making his way towards her from across the room. He was going to dance with her- and who knew what else? Mark could be extremely persuasive, and he was wanted by pretty much every girl at his high school. It wasn't so much whether a girl would say no to Mark, but whether he'd give her the chance to say yes. But what Mark was really hoping for- looking forward to, even- was Mike Whiteman's reaction. He was in the upper crust of the social circle at Chamberlain, and pretty content with where he was. If he had any self-respect at all- and a prep like Whiteman surely at least _thought_ he did- Mike Whiteman would resist when Mark came over and swept Mike's girl into his arms. Maybe he'd even try to fight Mark, depending on what Mark did with Sarah, right there in front of him.

Adrenaline began to course through Mark as he approached. If Mike Whiteman was going to try putting up a fight when Mark came over to take away his girlfriend for the evening, Mark looked forward to dragging the ginger-haired prep out back and just beating the living shit out of him. He would beat Mike until he saw blood- that long at least. Suddenly Mark was sure that was what he _wanted_ to happen. It was the only thing that could make him feel better after Amy's parents messed up his plans for the night.

Both teens were kissing quietly in the corner as Mark approached; this was a good ten or twelve feet from the dance floor, and not the center of attention for most party-goers. There was some privacy to be found here, and Mark knew he would enjoy taking that away from these two. Sarah and Mike looked up as Mark approached; from their expressions Mark could tell they both recognized him instantly.

"Hey, Sarah," Mark said, ignoring her boyfriend from the start. "What's up?"

Sarah blushed a little, surprised at being interrupted while with her boyfriend- and stunned that the _Mark Evans_ was coming over to talk to her, an interested look in his eyes. Turning from Mike mid-kiss, she immediately began fidgeting with her hair, struggling to make eye contact with the auburn-haired boy towering over her. "Uh, hey, Mark. Hey. How's it going?"

Mark shrugged, looking down at her with a friendly smile on her face. "Oh, you know. It's going okay. You have a drink? I wish I could."

"No," Sarah said, shaking her head. "I try to stay away from that stuff."

"I have to," Mark said, appearing regretful. "I'm on two Varsity teams and I can't have anything jeopardizing that. You're lucky; you don't have to worry about that."

Sarah smiled, enjoying the conversation more than she'd expected. It was just amazing Mark _Evans_ was here, talking to _her_! That didn't happen just every day. She hadn't even known he _liked_ her! But Mark was a very romantic boy, just like his brother. When he set his sights on a girl it might be a little while before she found out, especially when he practically had girls falling for him left and right. Remembering she was supposed to say something, Sarah smiled and said, "Yeah, that's true." Suddenly curious, she looked up at Mark and asked, "How much can you bench-press these days, Mark?"

The auburn-haired teen smiled. "That depends."

"On what?"

Mark's smile grew wider; he could tell Mike Whiteman, abruptly out of the picture completely, was fuming and getting angrier every second. Keeping his eyes on Sarah, Mark said, "On how much you weigh."

Sarah laughed; she couldn't tell which she liked more. That Mark Evans was talking to her, or that he was flirting with her and she was enjoying it. "Well, I weigh about one-forty," Sarah said, proud of herself for it. She ran and even worked out several times a month, and was proud of the figure she'd managed to keep.

The auburn-haired teen shrugged, thinking about it for a moment. "Well, I can probably bench-press _you_ about as much as you'd like."

Sarah blushed furiously now, catching one possible meaning of those words. And from the flirtatious, sensual way Mark was talking to her, that was very likely what he was suggesting. Sarah felt so guilty for ignoring her boyfriend like this… yet this was Mark Evans. She couldn't just turn her attention back to a cute boy when a hot _man_ was in front of her. Mark and his brother were the two manliest guys in the senior class. _Every_ girl had a crush on them.

"Hey, Mark-" Mike began, starting to look truly annoyed, but Mark just kept his eyes on Sarah, acting as if he hadn't heard. "Hey, Sarah!" he said suddenly, cutting Mike off. "You wanna dance?"

"Uh, sure!" Sarah said, suddenly trying to hide how thrilled she was at the prospect. My God, Mark Evans was _interested_ in her! She marveled at the fact again, wondering how in the world she hadn't seen it before.

Mark, seeing the way Sarah was reacting to his words and presence, wanted to laugh. Some of these girls had _no_ concept of what a one-night stand was. It would be the best sex she'd ever had- and Mark knew he was going to convince Sarah to let him take things that far. After all, that room he had reserved upstairs needed to be used for something. But Mark was already dating Amy Philips, and even he couldn't get away with dating two girls at the same time. Tonight was as far as it would go. There would be no follow-up phone call or date, and if Sarah Schreuder turned out not to like that, it was too damn bad. Technically, this was cheating on Amy, but her parents had cock-blocked Mark tonight, and nobody- NOBODY- did that to Mark Evans.

But Mark wanted to rub in what he was doing; he wanted to make sure Sarah's boyfriend knew a real man had shown up. As Sarah started to get up, Mark acknowledged Mike Whiteman for the first time. "Unless Mike minds, Sarah. Is that okay, Mike? Can Sarah dance with me?"

Mike glared up at Mark for a few seconds, and Sarah looked awkwardly between the two as she sensed tension. But it dissipated after just a few moments, and Mike's gaze faltered under Mark's cold, hard stare. "Yeah, sure," Mike muttered bitterly, feeling like his night was suddenly being ruined by the biggest jerk in the school. "That's fine."

"Great!" Mark said, and immediately took Sarah's hand- something he knew would give her a major case of the butterflies- and led her out onto the dance floor.

Once out there Mark led Sarah through not one, or even two, but three full songs, causing the slender, preppy girl to break into a sweat. Mark himself wasn't tired at all- the lively pace of the last twelve minutes had barely been an effort for him. As he and Sarah whirled around on the dance floor, the swift pace of it dizzying for the girl at times, Mark now and then threw a glance over to the corner of the room where Mike Whiteman was sitting. He was alone now, his arms crossed and a distinctly annoyed, resentful expression on his face. Mark flashed him a grin once or twice when Sarah wasn't looking, knowing it was taunting Mike and serving to make him angrier.

_Come on_, Mark thought as the third song neared its end, glancing again at Mike. _Come on, _fight_ me, you fuckin' pussy_. He _wanted_ this kid to fight him. He wanted Mike to come over here and try to start something, just so Mark could show him how badly somebody could lose.

Finally, Mark turned back to Sarah, literally sweeping her off her feet with his powerful arms as the third song ended. She cried out for a moment, startled, but looked up at Mark with an expression that said she was interested to see where this was going. The auburn-haired teen wasn't long in showing her; he leaned down and kissed Sarah on the lips, drawing her close and making the kiss a deep, sensual one. Sarah put her arms around his neck, and a little nervous, delighted moan from her throat said she didn't mind this at all. Mark wanted to grin; Amy's asshole parents weren't gonna stop him from getting laid tonight. Being faithful to his current girlfriend was just having good manners. It wasn't like he _had_ to do it.

"Excuse me!" a voice said, and suddenly a hand shoved at Mark hard enough to make him break away from Sarah. Displeased at this interruption, he glared at the intruder- of course it was Mike Whiteman. The ginger-haired, freckle-faced prep was staring hatefully at Mark, and it was clear he was thoroughly pissed.

"Mike!" Sarah said as she stood unsteadily on her feet again, dizzy from the kiss she'd just been given. It was the best she'd ever had in her life, and Mike had gone and ended it! "Mike," Sarah cried indignantly, "What're you _doing_?"

"Yes," Mark echoed coldly, "What _are_ you doing, Mike? Does Mike _mind_ that I'm dancing with Sarah?"

"Yes," Michael Whiteman said, glaring hard at Mark. "Mike minds a _lot_."

"Oh," Mark said calmly, starting to walk off the dance floor. "That's too bad."

"Where are you going, Mark?" Sarah said, following him with a puzzled expression on her face.

"Hey!" Mike Whiteman said, also following as Mark headed out of the kitchen and into the entrance hallway. "Hey! Don't you _fuckin'_ walk away from me-"

The instant they were out in the hallway, nearing the front door, Mark whirled and punched Mike Whiteman in the throat. The ginger's green eyes were suddenly as wide as dinner plates, and he staggered back, coughing and gagging as he suddenly found how hard it was to breathe. Michael Whiteman was a boy whose temper sometimes gave him more courage than good sense. He was no coward, having vowed that he would never let the Evans brothers intimidate him the way they had everyone else. A hard punch in the throat changed a lot of that for Michael; for the first time that night he began to feel truly scared. Mark didn't give him a second's reprieve, but grabbed him by the throat and bodily yanked him off the floor.

"You fuckin' _bitch_," Mark snarled, "Who the _hell_ do you think you are? Interrupting a girl while she's having a good time? Nobody gives a _fuck_ about your night; what makes you think you can ruin _hers_, too?"

That was a very nice touch, and one Mark only added at the last second. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Sarah's expression, albeit alarmed, soften a little; she suddenly thought Mark's anger was on her behalf and appreciated that. It was hilarious; Mark was getting ready to beat up Sarah's boyfriend, yet she was still on Mark's side in this. Maybe she hadn't been feeling so good about Mike lately, or had some inner wish to be with somebody more satisfying. Mark knew he could easily take care of _that_!

"Urk," Mike coughed, struggling and writhing desperately in Mark's grip. His hands pulled and beat uselessly at Mark's hand as it gripped Mike about his throat, and Mike's legs kicked at the air as he tried to force Mark to free him. His struggles grew more desperate as the air flow slowly began to cease. Mark grinned at the other boy's visible fear and pain; he was deliberately taking his time with this. "Uk," Mike gasped, "Gah!"

"Mark," Sarah began, a little scared now. "Can you let him go, please?"

"What?" Mark said, not taking his eyes off Mike.

"Can you _please_ let him go?" Sarah pleaded, and Mark shrugged and dropped Mike to the floor. He collapsed in a heap, gasping like a beached fish, but the moment he found his breath looked up at Mark, glaring in an unmistakable expression of hate. "You fuckin' asshole," Mike said hoarsely. "You fuckin' jerk."

"He was being _nice_ to me!" Sarah said, still upset at Mike for messing up the best kiss she'd ever had.

"He's an _asshole_, Sarah," Mike spat, his voice ragged and bitter. "And if you like him, so are you."

Sarah gasped, hurt and angry, and Mark actually grinned in the darkened hallway. From the sudden change of expression on his face, Mark could tell that Mike immediately regretted those words. Mike's head was probably dizzy with rage and oxygen deprivation, and he had spat that out without really thinking about it.

The brown-haired girl suddenly burst into tears, fleeing back into the kitchen and over to the bar, deciding abruptly that a good, long drink was just what she needed. This night had gone from interesting to wonderful to terrible, and the emotional toll of it was just too much for Sarah.

Once she was gone, Mark turned back to Mike Whiteman, reading down and jerking the ginger bodily to his feet; the auburn-haired teen did it so fast he heard Mike's shirt rip at the collar.

"What are you _doing_?" Mike snarled, truly incensed in spite of his fear. "Let _go_ of me, you faggot!" His evening was ruined, he'd probably just lost his girlfriend, and he was most _certainly_ not getting laid. The whole evening was a disaster now, and Mark Evans had started the whole thing.

Mark didn't say anything. He just grabbed Mike and dragged him down the hall towards an empty, darkened living room. Mark ignored Mike's furious and scared protests, didn't even acknowledge the surprised and indignant cries of a few couples he'd interrupted in the living room. Instead, he just dragged Mike straight through, threw open the back door and dragged him off into the backyard, around the back of the shed and out of sight.

**XX**

Inside the house, Martin Brodinsky went back to feeling up Megan Banes, one of the hottest sophomore girls in his class, and John LaFleur, who together with Cindy Howell was occupying a leather couch quite completely, paused for just a moment to tell everyone not to worry about it, that Mark and Mike were just going out to have a talk. With John's explanation and a lot of teenage hormones running through their systems, the couples in the darkened living room didn't take long to forget about Mike Whiteman's misfortune. He had obviously done something stupid and upset Mark Evans; whatever happened because of that was _his_ problem.

**XX**

Outside, Mark started the beating the minute he got behind the shed, out of anyone's potential view from the house. Tall bushes and trees blocked the view into the backyard from the neighbor's place, so Mark knew there would be no witnesses. He threw Mike against the shed, punching him in the mouth as he rebounded.

"You _fuckin'_ asshole!" Mike gasped, blood staining his teeth. "You fuck-"

Mark swiftly punched Mike in the gut, grinning as the red-haired teen doubled over, clutching his middle and coughing. Grabbing Mike by the shoulders with one hand, Mark forced him upright and slugged him in the stomach again. And again. He wisely stood back and let go of Mike for a moment after the third blow, as Mike collapsed to his knees and projectile-vomited everything he'd eaten this evening on the grass.

"Oh, _God_…" Mike moaned, bruised, bloodied, and literally groaning in pain. "Oh, shit, oh-"

But it wasn't over; Mark hadn't had enough fun yet. He hauled Mike to his feet and slammed him against the wood boards of the shed's outer wall, slamming Michael Whiteman's head into it until the other teen literally could not stand anymore. Mark let him go and Mike collapsed, his left shoulder landing square in the pile of his own vomit.

"Now, you hear this, asshole," Mark whispered, crouching down beside Mike. "I'm gonna have Sarah tonight. I think she's kinda cute, but I think I need to see her with her clothes off to make sure. And if you say a word to her about it, I'm gonna fuck you up so bad you'll think _this_ was fuckin' Sunday School at church."

Then Mark stood up, kicked Mike hard in the torso a few times until he rolled up in a fetal ball, crying unashamedly and moaning in pain. Finally, he sighed, grinning at the exercise he'd just had. He didn't feel winded, didn't feel tired at all- but he'd gotten his pulse up a bit, and that was good.

Mark gave Mike one final kick for good measure- the ginger-haired boy was completely beyond any form of resistance now- and walked back across the yard and into the house. Once again paying no attention to the couples in various spots around the room- even a glance told Mark things were much farther along for most of them now, so they probably didn't even hear him anyway- Mark returned to the front hallway of the house. He remembered Sarah fleeing for the kitchen, and before long found her at the bar set up in the kitchen.

**XX**

Michael Whiteman lay on the ground outside for what could have been as little as twenty minutes, or as much as two hours. His watch had been knocked out when he'd been getting slammed around by Mark, and he'd left his cell phone in his car down the street. Michael had no idea how much time passed as he lay there in the dark, the cold night air only further worsening his pain. He managed to roll over once so he was no longer lying in his own vomit, but that hardly helped; he stank of it anyway.

For a long time Michael moaned in pain; every inch of him ached, and his ribs and stomach were on fire. The back of his head had taken a beating; Michael felt like one more blow would have given him a concussion. Michael hurt so bad that for a while he even cried, tears running down his face as he clutched his middle and dry-heaved once or twice. For a time he wished he would die, if only to be put out of this pain. Eventually, though, Michael stopped crying. It made no difference, it did no good. He'd done the right thing, hadn't he? That arrogant jerk Mark Evans had tried to make him look weak in front of everybody. He'd tried to steal Michael's girl. Wasn't he _supposed_ to fight a guy over that?

Well, right or wrong, Michael Whiteman knew he'd lost this one. He'd lost the fight, and through Mark's charm and his own stupid words to Susan, probably lost his girl. Michael wondered what the hell he'd even done to deserve this. He dry-heaved for a third time, finally forcing himself to all fours as a thin stream of spit and acid trailed out of his mouth. The reflex felt absolutely horrible, somehow made all the worse by the fact that Michael's stomach now had nothing more to reject.

Finally, when the sky was completely dark and Michael was damn near freezing, he forced himself to his feet and began to limp out of the backyard. He didn't bother going inside to get his jacket; to face everybody inside would mean admitting his humiliation and defeat. It wasn't like that even mattered, though. Everybody would know soon enough.

Michael Whiteman limped down the Brodinskys' front yard and down the street, bitterly figuring that with the plans Mark Evans no doubt had for Susan, he'd probably be giving her more rides than just the one home. Michael somewhat regretted not staying to see his girl home, but he was a broken boy. He needed to salvage one last piece of pride and dignity, and that meant going home alone. In a way, Michael could accept that. What he couldn't understand- what he could not even _begin_ to accept- was what the hell he'd done to deserve any of this in the first place.

**XX**

She was sitting on a stool by herself, halfway through a beer and crying. Mark approached her from behind, gently announcing his presence by taking the beer out of her hands. Sarah turned to look at him, red-eyed and sniffling, and just said "Hey, Mark."

"The answer's not in that bottle," Mark said softly, putting it aside. "I'm sorry about all this, Sarah. Mike had no right to mess up your evening."

"N-n-no, it's oh-okay," Sarah said, struggling to find the words. "It's okay."

"It will be," Mark assured her, putting and arm around her shoulder. After a few moments, he looked at Sarah. "Hey," he said, and she turned to look at him.

"It's kinda loud in here, you know?" Mark said, gesturing at the dance floor and party-goers behind him. "You wanna go someplace quiet, so we can talk?"

"T-talk?" Sarah said, a little uncertain and very nervous. She had a feeling she knew what Mark was at least partially suggesting.

"Talk," Mark agreed. "That's all we can do if you want. Just talk. I got a room reserved for me upstairs. You wanna go up there? We can talk. I promise you'll feel better." Mark didn't plan on doing a whole lot of talking, but he knew he could keep his promise about the second part. Sarah would feel a lot better before the end of the night.

"Uh…" Sarah said, then finally nodded, her chest still hitching a little. "Oh-okay."

Mark smiled sweetly at her, taking her by the hand. They walked out of the kitchen and into the hallway, and Mark smiled as he led the pretty girl upstairs.


	12. Chapter 12- After Party

**Chapter XII- After Party**

* * *

Henry was late. He was supposed to have dropped Lisa off at her house at eleven and been back home fifteen minutes later. Instead, he was taking his goddamn time. If Mark knew Henry- and he did, being his brother and all- Henry was probably taking his time very much on purpose. There was a good chance he was getting a quick fuck in before he drove Lisa home, or maybe having her give him head. Henry had a tendency to do shit like that, and it always made him late whenever he did it. Of course, Mark couldn't complain; he sometimes ran late for the same reasons. And Henry was his brother. He could take all the fucking time he wanted, especially if he was enjoying himself.

Mark stood outside in his black suede, fur-lined jacket, identical to the one Henry wore with the onset of cold weather. It was still warm enough during the day, but temperatures were already starting to drop at night. He was smoking a cigarette as he stood out by his Jeep, leaning up against it and waiting for Henry to get home. He'd told their parents that Henry would be back by eleven-thirty, that he had needed to refuel the Hummer and was running a little late getting back. It was eleven-twenty, and Mark was freezing his ass off. He was no wuss, and could easily withstand physical discomfort, but Mark never had quite understood his brother's attraction to it. It was just one of Henry's eccentricities, Mark supposed. Something you had to expect in a brother.

Finally, at eleven twenty-two, the unmistakable, hulking profile of the black Hummer that Henry and Mark's teammates had nicknamed "the Beast" began to come into view down the road, its massive form appearing and disappearing again as it raced past rows of trees. Finally, the truck braked hard and swung into a left turn, its massive frame leaning hard as it slowed. The diesel slowed to a loud idle as the Hummer pulled into the driveway, and just before running right into Mark neatly came to a stop.

Staring right over the Hummer's giant black hood and into the wide, rectangular windshield, Mark said dryly, "That was _real_ fuckin' funny, jackass."

The Hummer's driver's door opened, and Henry jumped down, laughing. "I _know_ it was, man! I just wanted to see if you had the balls to stand still with a Hummer comin' at you."

"I _do_." Mark thought it ridiculous that anyone could even suggest it was otherwise.

That just set Henry off again; Mark really was a little annoyed, but his brother had clearly enjoyed himself immensely tonight.

_Well, at least one of us did_, Mark thought bitterly, still furious that anyone- let alone a girlfriend's parents- would _dare_ say no to him.

Henry stopped laughing suddenly, catching Mark's disgruntled expression. He looked soberly at Mark, who was standing there, smoking his cigarette in the driveway and not saying a thing. "Hey, man," Henry said, "I'm sorry. What happened?"

Mark just shook his head. "Amy's folks cockblocked me. Wouldn't let her go to the party."

There was a loud, metallic bang as Henry slammed a fist down on the hood of his truck; the massive vehicle visibly rocked from the impact. "Those mother_fuckers_!" Henry almost shouted, and cut loose with a stream of obscenities that no one would have believed possible from a boy who still attended church regularly. Henry didn't get mad like this often- between the two, Mark was the hot-tempered one- but when Henry did get pissed off… God help whoever was in his way.

The auburn-haired teen dropped the cigarette and ground it under his shoe, then moved swiftly to his brother, setting strong hands on Henry's broad, powerful shoulders. The blonde teen stilled as Mark reached him, halting his tirade for the moment. They looked at each other, and Mark smiled a little. "Come on, man. Don't wake the whole neighborhood."

"Fuck 'em," Henry said, glowering as he leaned back against his Hummer. He took out a pack and a lighter- still that gold Zippo he'd had all these years- and lit one up, offering a cigarette to Mark and lighting his too.

Mark couldn't have been more appreciative of Henry's presence in his life than he was at moments like this. Henry never got angrier than when it was on his brother's behalf. And while the auburn-haired teen loved Henry for it, he knew his brother had enjoyed himself immensely tonight. He had no right to take that away from Henry. So thinking of his brother's success instead of his own misfortune, Mark asked him how his night went.

Just as Mark had figured, Henry's face lit up in a way that had nothing to do with the glow of his cigarette. He grinned, chuckling a little as he began reliving the night's events. "Oh, man!" Henry laughed. "I had a _great_ time. Fuckin' _awesome_."

"Did you give it to her?"

Henry laughed. "Lisa was _begging_ for it, man. I couldn't have said no if I'd wanted to."

"But you _didn't_ want to," Mark said knowingly.

"_Fuck_ no!" Henry said.

"So… what'd you guys do?" Mark asked, a sly look on his face.

"Everything," Henry smirked.

"Like?"

"Well," Henry said with exaggerated impatience, "If you _must_ know, I did her three times. Ate her out, too."

"Did you come inside her?"

Henry shrugged. He would have never talked about this crap with anyone but Mark; no one but him had the right to ask about the details of Henry's sexual conquests, just as Henry was the only one who could ask Mark. "Yeah, the times when I was on top. The second time, when she was, she hopped off as I was about finished." The blonde teen chuckled. "I just about shot her in the face." After a few moments, Henry went on, "Well, I gave Lisa some of those pills; she did some whining about not wanting to get pregnant."

"You should've _got_ her pregnant," Mark said, taking a drag of his cigarette. "_Nobody_ mouths off to you."

Henry reached over and ruffled Mark's auburn hair, and suddenly the two of them were twelve years old again. "That's why you're my brother," Henry said affectionately. Mark swatted an arm at the blonde, but it was without real force, and Henry brushed it aside. Besides, Mark was smiling.

"Anyway," Henry said as he resumed smoking himself, "Lisa was wiped out after round three. I mean, she just slept the rest of the night. I woke her up about ten-forty?" Henry grinned, leaning his head back as he relived what was clearly a truly glorious moment. "She gave me head for ten minutes straight." He exhaled a breath of smoke, shaking his head in amazement. "_Man_, I thought I was gonna blow her _head_ off. My goddamn _ear_drums bulged."

"Nice," Mark laughed. He wasn't faking his good mood now; he really was pleased. Mark would have hated to listen to anyone else tell about having a good time when he hadn't been so lucky, but Henry was the one exception to that. The auburn-haired teen took pride in his brother's accomplishments and successes just as sincerely as if they were his own.

"So that's why you were late?" Mark asked, taking a drag of his cigarette. "Getting head from Lisa?"

"Yeah," Henry said, a little regretful. "Good thing her mom likes me. She totally bought this story I gave her about having to stop and change a tire. Still took me a while to make up a convincing story, though." The two huge, muscular teenagers were silent for a few moments, both leaning against the side of the black Hummer and smoking a cigarette. "Well, anyway," Henry said, "That's my story for tonight. Got some like always. How'd things go for you?"

Mark's good mood evaporated almost completely, and the auburn-haired teen could see right away that Henry regretted asking. He didn't like seeing Mark upset.

Trying to be positive about it, Mark thought of the night's events and decided to emphasize what he had truly done- made the best of it that he could. "Well, I yelled at Amy for about half an hour."

"Good," Henry said firmly. "The frigid bitch deserves it."

Mark laughed; Henry was so cold when it came to people he even _suspected_ had wronged his brother. It was so touching, knowing that you had a brother willing to hurt or kill literally _anyone_ on your behalf.

"Well," Mark went on, "I yelled at her for about thirty minutes, like I said. By the end of it she was crying, saying she was sorry, that it wasn't her fault." Mark paused, pinching his cigarette out between his fingers; Henry put out his own and they each lit up another.

"But Amy did say she can come with us on the skiing trip tomorrow."

"That's good," Henry said calmly. "Good choice for them to make." He paused, then looked at Mark. "So what'd you do after that?"

Mark shrugged. "Sat at the bar for a long fuckin' time. Thought about getting drunk."

"But you didn't," Henry said, looking at his brother closely.

"No," the auburn-haired teen said truthfully. "Of course not. What I _did_ do, though, was go look for a nice-looking girl. I wanted to get fucked tonight, even if Amy's folks cockblocked me."

"Cheating on your girlfriend?" Henry gasped in mock dismay. "Mark, that's so _unlike_ you."

"Get fucked."

"Already did. _Three_ times. It was awesome."

"Yes, I imagine your dreams are a lot of fun," Mark smirked, and Henry shoved him. Mark shoved back with enough force to knock any other guy flat on his ass. The blonde teen just rocked back on his heels and recovered, then laughed and went back to smoking his cigarette.

"So how'd things go after that?" Henry asked, like nothing had even happened.

"I danced with Sarah Schreuder," Mark said, and Henry just smirked.

"Is that _all_ you did with her?"

"No," Mark smirked, feeling a little better now. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves. She was there with her boyfriend, that kid Whiteman."

"So what'd he do?" Henry asked, knowing what the answer would likely be.

Mark shrugged. "Oh, he tried to fight me. You know, the usual bullshit: 'That's my girl, take your damn hands off her', all that stuff."

"And what did you do about that?" Henry asked, beginning to smirk.

"I fucked him up," Mark said, matter-of-factly. "Dragged him out back and beat him till he was lying in his own puke."

"_Nice_," Henry grinned.

"Anyway," Mark went on, "I found Sarah when I went back inside. She was all upset, felt like her evening was ruined." The auburn-haired teen smiled as he remembered how kind he'd been, how understanding. And how irresistibly charming. "I talked to her, was real nice. Kissed her some more." Mark shrugged, as if what happened next went without saying. And with him and Henry, it did. "I took her upstairs and did her twice."

"So what's there to be so down about?" Henry asked solemnly.

"I should've been doing _Amy_," Mark said irritably, still angry at how her parents had dared to get in the way. "Not some preppy girl I'm not even gonna _call_ tomorrow. I deserve _better_ than that."

"Damn right you do," Henry said, putting a sympathetic arm around his brother's shoulder. "But how does your _dick_ feel?"

"Better," Mark said, deciding the dull but very pleasurable ache in his crotch was indeed something to be happy about.

"See?" Henry said. "Look, Mark, there was nothing fair about Amy's folks telling you she couldn't come tonight. That was _bullshit_. But you made the best of a shitty situation. You used initiative, determination." He slapped Mark affectionately on the back; the force of the blow barely budged the auburn-haired teen, but it would have knocked most boys off their feet. "Mark," Henry said quietly, "I'm proud of you, man."

"Thanks, Henry," Mark whispered, suddenly tearing up.

For a time the two teenagers were silent, too moved for either of them to speak. Then the front door of the house opened, and Susan stepped out onto the porch in her nightgown.

"Mark, Henry!" she called, visibly pleased to see her sons. "You guys can come _in_, you know! You _live_ here."

As the emotional moment passed, Henry and Mark put out their cigarettes. Picking up the four butts and throwing them in the trash can near the four-car garage the family had paid a contractor to build two years ago, both teens headed up the walk and towards the house.

"I love you, Mom," Henry said warmly, putting his powerful arms around his mother and hugging her.

"I love you, Mom," Mark said with equal sincerity, once his turn came to hug his mother. In a way, he meant it. Susan had always been good to him and Henry, and she'd welcomed Mark into her house with open arms. And she'd given birth to Henry- she was literally the one who'd shielded the blonde boy when he was small and truly helpless. Had Susan not been such a good mother, Henry and Mark might never have met. Mark owed her a debt of thanks for taking care of his brother until they met- she deserved Henry and Mark's care and generosity for that act alone.

"Mom," Henry said in a concerned voice, "You should be inside. It's chilly out here; we don't want you catching cold."

Susan's eyes went wide with surprise, and she stared between her two sons with mock indignance. "Me? I came out here so you two wouldn't stand out here talking all night-"

"-About how much we don't want you standing out in the cold," Mark finished, and the two boys ushered their mother inside.

"How was the party, boys?" Wallace called as he approached from the kitchen, where he and his wife had been patiently waiting for their sons' return.

"Oh, it went great, Dad," Mark said. "We had a _lot_ of fun." That much was the truth.

"Martin's folks were out, so we asked Mrs. Hess from next door to help keep an eye on things," Henry lied.

"Everybody behave?" Susan asked, looking between Mark and Henry as they hung up their jackets in the hallway closet. "There wasn't any trouble, was there?"

"Of course not, Mom," Henry said calmly. "Did you expect there would be?"

"No," Susan said truthfully. "I trust you guys."

"Thanks, Mom," Henry said, smiling sweetly.

"There wasn't any _drinking_, was there?" Wallace asked cautiously. "Anything of that sort?"

"Oh, no," Mark said, shaking his head. "We never touch that stuff."

"And Mark and I set up most of these parties, so we make sure things don't get outta control," Henry added. "Everybody's home by midnight."

Except for the kids who fuck all night long, Mark wanted to add, but wisely didn't. Susan and Wallace asked a few more questions, mostly just satisfying curiosities and calming worries they'd had while their boys were away. Henry and Mark responded to each one calmly, dealing with the questions effortlessly. As always when asked about parties, dates or damn near anything else they did, the brothers said what their parents would want to hear, telling little of the truth.

After a few minutes Wallace decided he'd head up to bed, satisfied that his sons had again been responsible, and behaved themselves. No fights at school, no arrests- neither Mark nor Henry had ever had so much as a parking ticket. It was like the Evans family truly was enjoying the good life now, and after all the bad times they'd been through Wallace was more than willing to accept that his sons were grown up now. He didn't need to ask too many questions to know he could trust them.

"Hey, Mark," Henry said, "You wanna go down to the basement and work out before we go to bed?"

Mark grinned; he loved working out. Anything that got the adrenaline going was good. Fighting, pumping iron, and fucking. Those were beyond any doubt Mark's three most favoured activities. Well, that and killing. That one was best of all. "Sure," Mark nodded. "That sounds great."

"What?" Susan said, staring at them like they were crazy. "It's 11:40! You guys just got back from a party and you've got a skiing trip tomorrow. You're _really_ gonna go work out, too?"

Henry flashed his mother a dazzling smile. "We work hard and we play hard, Mom; that's the secret of our success!"

"And we ate our spinach every day," Mark added with a smile of his own, and Susan laughed.

"Okay, guys, but I expect to see you up tomorrow morning," she said, making an effort to be stern. "Don't go sleeping in till noon." As usual, her fondness for these two was a little too obvious for the effort to have much success.

"We'll be up, Mom," Henry assured his mother, and the two muscular teens headed upstairs, bidding their mother goodnight as she followed them up and then headed off to her own room.

Changing into their mesh shorts and sleeveless workout shirts, Henry and Mark headed quietly downstairs to the ground floor, and from there down to the basement.

Once there, the two teens quickly got started, throwing themselves into an intense workout with a passion. Henry and Mark could both lift 80-pound dumbbells, one in each arm, and enthusiastically compared further details about their accomplishments that night. Mark bragged of how he'd come on Sarah's blooming chest the first time, and her face the second. Sarah had never been with anyone before, she'd told him; both teens laughed as they each thought of how funny it was screwing a virgin. Stupid girls didn't know what the hell they were doing. It was up to Mark and his brother to show 'em what a real man was like. Henry boasted of his three ten-minute rounds with Lisa, and how this stunning beauty was already putty in his hands. "I'm gonna have her doing whatever the fuck I want soon," Henry laughed as he worked on one of the machines, exercising his shoulders and lifting over 200 pounds at a time. "That bitch is gonna do anything I tell her."

"Can _I_ have her sometime?" Mark asked jokingly, and Henry just shrugged. "If you want."

Mark laughed; Henry would have killed any other guy for making so brazen a suggestion, but with the auburn-haired teen he just laughed it off. He'd probably do it, too- let Mark have Lisa sometime. All Mark needed to do was ask, and that would be enough. And Mark knew Lisa wouldn't say anything; beforehand, Henry would probably warn her- very bluntly- not to.

Not that this had ever actually happened, however. Aside from the fact that Henry and Mark had both screwed John's current girlfriend, Cindy Howell, they generally did not share girls. The offer was always open, of course, but the brothers had more than enough girls to choose from. It just wasn't something that they'd ever needed to do- but Mark knew they could swap girlfriends for a night anytime one of them asked.

"Come on," Henry said, sitting down on his back at another one of the stations. "I'm gonna bench-press some weights. I want you to spot me."

"Sure," Mark said, knowing Henry didn't really need a spotter, but at the same time aware that he would be watching very closely. Three hundred pounds on either end of that long steel bar was more than enough to cause harm if Henry dropped it suddenly.

Henry started lifting the bar and lowering it to his chest again. Raising it and lowering it, raising and lowering it. A total of six hundred pounds each time. He worked fast and steady, almost like he was doing pushups. Before long Henry began to grunt from the effort, and the sheen of sweat he'd been building grew more obvious. Only at moments like this did Henry feel at all challenged; only now, when he was pushing the limits of human endurance.

"You know," Henry said as he continued his workout, "I was thinking. Why don't we go pro in hockey? I mean, get a scholarship, play in college and go pro? Think about it. We'd have tons of money, kick-ass houses- and all the hot chicks we can fuck. Plus, we might get to slice some fingers off with our skates once in a while. Have some 'accidents' with guys on the other team. What's not to like?"

Mark thought about that for a few moments; that was a tempting idea. Frankly, it was difficult to find a reason to say no. The auburn-haired teen came up with one, though, and mentioned it.

"Oh, yeah," Henry grunted as he continued lifting and lowering the six-hundred pound weight. "I guess that is true. There'd be a _lot_ of attention on us, wouldn't there?"

"Yeah," Mark nodded. "We'd be lucky to kill one person every ten fuckin' years."

"I'd rather cut my dick off," Henry said.

"Dude, you'd kill _me_ before you did that," Mark joked, but the look on Henry's face immediately made him regret it.

"Don't say that, Mark," Henry said, not a trace of humor in his voice. "Some things just aren't funny."

"I'm sorry," the auburn-haired teen said sincerely. "I-I don't know why I said that."

Sweating hard as he set the steel bar back in its bracket, Henry sighed and looked at his brother. "It's fine, man. Don't worry about it." After a pause, he said, "So do _you_ have any ideas? I mean, for what we do after high school?"

"We could join the Army," Mark said. That idea had occurred to him the other day, and it didn't sound too bad.

Henry frowned. "No fuckin' way am I goin' in as some private. Fuck that."

"Well, what about going to college first? Doing ROTC, West Point or something?" Mark suggested.

The blonde teen thought about that for a few moments, then finally got up from the bench-press station and slapped a hand on his brother's shoulder. "I think we'll hold onto that one," Henry said, looking pleased. "Let's think about that some more, Mark."

"Cool," Mark said, smiling and sitting down as he changed places with Henry. "Hey, man," he said as he got settled on his back, "You remember freshman year? Back then we could only bench 250."

"That's pussy shit, man," Henry said, and they both laughed. Their workouts were so intense these days even the other athletes at school were awed. Nobody could understand how Henry and Mark had grown so tall, so strong- or how they could endure workouts that Hercules would have been challenged by. But Henry and Mark knew, and that was enough. Everybody else would be content with knowing what the Evans brothers wanted them to.

"Oh, you know what, man?" Mark said, glancing at the weights attached to the steel bar. "Give me another forty on each side."

"You wanna do 680 _pounds_?" Henry asked, incredulous. "That's the most we've ever done!"

"Exactly," Mark said, smirking. "I'm not gonna be a little bitch and cop out at 600 like you."

"Fuck you," Henry said, laughing. He went and got the weights, though, and fixed them to each end of the steel bar. "There you go, big-shot," Henry said sarcastically. "Get some."

"Already did, man," Mark sighed, reliving that the total of twenty-two minutes he'd spent having sex tonight. The best part was that he was gonna have Amy soon- within the next week for sure- and as much as he wanted after that. Oh, and then there was Miss Michaels at school…

"Me, too," Henry grinned, watching his brother carefully as Mark started raising and lowering the immense weight of the steel bar. "Lisa's a _great_ fuck, man. I mean, she's a 9 or 10 for sure. I think it's gonna be a _while_ before I get bored with her."

"We don't even _look_ at anything but 9's or 10's," Mark grunted. "Remember?"

"Always," Henry said simply. "We don't deserve anything less."

Mark considered his initial words. "Okay, maybe an 8," he amended. "Sarah Schreuder's an 8 and I fucked _her_."

"Yeah," Henry nodded, "7's or 8's are okay for one-night stands. But that's all."

"Dude," Mark laughed, "How many girls have the two of us fucked? I mean, think about it."

Henry shrugged. "I dunno. About ten, twelve each. What do you think?"

The auburn-haired teen looked up at his brother with mock scorn. "_Twelve_, man? Stop fuckin' lying. I think you mean more than that. You need to be counting rapes, one-night stands- _everything_."

"I'm being modest," Henry said simply.

"Yeah," Mark laughed, "You're _real_ modest."

"No less than you," Henry chuckled. "I'm a humble guy, really."

"Well, the both of us are," Mark said. "We're just better than everyone else."

Henry grinned. "Yeah, that's about right."

The workout went on until well after one in the morning, both brothers happily chatting about everything and anything that came to mind. Girls, money, their trucks, killing hitchhikers, the new kid Chris- those and so many other things came up in discussion. Both boys were in truly excellent moods by the time they headed upstairs for bed; they had enjoyed themselves immensely at the party, and were always put in a better mood by being with each other. Their appetite for pleasure more than satisfied this evening, both of them went to sleep thoroughly content, happy thoughts dancing in their heads even as they drifted off to sleep.


	13. Chapter 13- Morning Visitor

**Chapter XIII- Morning Visitor**

* * *

Much to their parents' surprise, Mark and Henry were up for breakfast the next morning, just as Henry had said. They didn't seem fatigued or tired in any significant way, which Susan and her husband just shrugged off as yet another show of their sons' incredible physical stamina and endurance. Nothing but the most extreme and intensive physical activities tired them out- hence, their workouts these days were around the same level of intensity as professional bodybuilders.

While Mark was the more scientifically and mathematically-inclined of the two boys, and Henry's favourite classes were arts and literature, the blond-haired teenager was also by far the family's expert on automobiles. Routine maintenance and extensive repairs, replacements and customizations were all things Henry could do, and do well. He had spent hours outside in the driveway in the summer of 1996, when Henry and Mark had received their first cars. For Henry, it was a gold 1997 Eagle Vision, a four-door performance sedan based closely off the Dodge Intrepid. Mark, meanwhile, selected the two-door sports car Talon from the '97 Eagle lineup, getting his in silver. That car was famous in the compact-car performance market, highly popular with tuners and street racers as an Americanized twin of the formidable Mitsubishi Eclipse.

Henry had taken to working on both cars with a passion, and by the end of a few weeks worth of hard work on his part, the two vehicles had superchargers fitted to their engines. The result was truly pleasing to Henry and Mark, especially since the summer before senior year. The brothers had two stylish-yet-commonplace cars in the Talon and Vision, vehicles that looked good and moved fast but weren't especially noticeable. And in the Grand Cherokee and Hummer, Henry and Mark had what they loved most of all- power, grace and style. And it was a perfect combination; the Eagles were best for when Mark and Henry preferred not to be noticed, and the SUV's were perfect for opposite occasions.

Right now, on Saturday morning, Henry and Mark were out in the driveway, working on Mark's silver Talon. Well, _Henry_ was working on it. Only one person could really be under the car at a time, and in any case one was all you needed to perform an oil change. So Henry was under the Talon, and Mark was standing close by, a wheeled tool-chest beside him, prepared to hand Henry anything he might need. A metal pan was already under the car, and Henry was working on a key bolt with a socket wrench, preparing to let the Talon's old oil drain out into the pan.

"Dude," Henry grunted from under the car, "Was this really necessary?"

"Was _what_ necessary?" Mark asked, feigning ignorance while wishing he could light up a cigarette. You couldn't, though; Henry had been absolutely firm about that. At no time was it safe to smoke while you were working on a car, especially when the hood was up and automotive-fluid vapors potentially in the air. Virtually every one of them was in some way flammable; gasoline was just the most so. So as much as he wanted to pump a little nicotine in his system, Mark couldn't. Henry knew what he was talking about with these things, and the auburn-haired teen listened to his brother.

"Double-jacking the fucking car," Henry said, grumbling as he struggled to get the bolt loose. "And something _else_ I don't get? You always do that shit yourself." The blond teen's voice took on a slight mocking tone. "What's the matter, Mark? _Scared_?"

"Yeah, I _am_," Mark answered, and Henry laughed from under the Talon. "I knew it."

"I'm scared," the auburn-haired teen continued, "that you might get some stupid idea in your head while you're working on one of the cars. Like trying to bench-press the goddamn car using only your head."

For a moment Henry was silent, and Mark could tell his brother was thinking about it. "Now, about that-" the blond began, but his brother cut him off. "You see what I mean?" Mark said, shaking his head in dismay. "If I let you do this by yourself, you'd probably try it, you dumb shit."

"Go fuck yourself."

"I would if every 9 and 10 in school wasn't lining up to do it for me," Mark shot back, and Henry laughed, then swore violently as he got the bolt loose and the oil began draining out, coating his hands.

"Your mom didn't teach you to talk that way!" Mark scolded with mock sternness.

"We got the same mom, dumbass," Henry retorted.

"I'm gonna shoot you with a railroad spike and throw you down a well," Mark threatened.

"Oh, yeah?" Henry said, picking right up on the game. "Well, I'll kill Connie!"

"So?"

Henry chuckled from under the silver Talon. "Oh, yeah." Then Mark could almost see his brother shrug as he went on, "But hey, accidents happen."

"Just ask my mom about Richard."

They said it at the exact same time, and both teenagers burst out laughing, truly enjoying the good times shared between close brothers. It had become a favourite joke of Henry and Mark's since they were twelve years old, when Henry had first told his then-cousin about his murder of Richard, his younger brother, when he was ten. They loved to joke about it now- something about that line was just outrageously funny to the both of them- but obviously it was a joke only they could share. Richard's death was even now officially regarded as an accident. It wouldn't do to have the truth of that story come into the knowledge of others.

Mark, for his part, was enjoying today immensely. His lust for violence had been briefly sated when he'd beaten up Michael Whiteman yesterday, and his sexual needs had been met when he'd screwed Sarah Schreuder after ending her relationship with Michael. The combination of those two achievements- beating somebody up and screwing somebody else- felt damn good. Mark was in a truly excellent mood this morning. But while he enjoyed any time spent with Henry, Mark wasn't really kidding when he'd indicated he was unwilling to leave Henry alone while he was working on one of the cars in the driveway. He might joke and shoot the shit with Henry about it, but Mark wasn't about to take any unnecessary chances. After all, under Mark's silver Talon was the one thing Mark valued most life: his brother.

The auburn-haired teen suddenly became aware of something unusual; there was a car pulling up to the curb, right in front of the Evans family's home. Business associates of Wallace's usually met him elsewhere, and friends of Susan's typically did something similar, calling in advance at the very least so that Susan would be out front to meet them. Neither of Mark's parents had mentioned anybody coming over Saturday morning, and the house was no longer listed on the local telephone books. Susan and Wallace might have been very proud of their sons' success, but they also valued their privacy.

Then Mark noticed something else. The vehicle was a new '99 Pontiac Sunfire, a sapphire-blue two-door compact car. A nice car, but inexpensive, and a cheap throwaway when compared to Henry's $90,000 Hummer or Mark's $50,000 Jeep. Of course, not everyone had the resources of the Evans family, and not many teenagers had the persuasiveness of Henry and Mark. The auburn-haired teen stared down from the sloping driveway at the Sunfire, and then realised with a start who it belonged to.

"Dude," Mark said quietly, "That's _Amy's_ car."

"Ask her if she'll blow me," Henry said distractedly, now trying to get the bolt for the oil-drain back in.

Mark was about to fire back some witty reply- probably something to the effect of "You can't have her until _I'm_ done"- when a horrible and infuriating suspicion came over him. Amy, that red-haired, green-eyed beauty of the cheerleading squad, got out and hurried towards Mark.

"What are you _doing_ here?" the auburn-haired teen demanded, frowning and not even caring how sharp his voice sounded. "Henry and I aren't coming to pick you up for the skiing trip till nine."

"I-" Amy began, but Mark cut her off.

"Or did your parents say you couldn't come with me on _this_, too?"

Reaching Mark, Amy looked up at her boyfriend with an almost meek expression, wishing he'd stop standing there with his huge, muscular arms folded across that powerful- and gorgeous- chest of his. He was drop-dead sexy, even angry. But Amy just couldn't stand to think that Mark would ever be angry at her.

"No, Mark," Amy said, forcing herself to remain calm. "That's not it."

"Then what _is_ 'it'?" Mark demanded, still displeased about what the Philips elders had done last night.

"I just wanted to apologize," Amy said, sighing as she let out a breath she'd been holding in since she'd neared this street at least. "For my parents. I'm sorry I couldn't go to the party last night, Mark. I really am. Your parents just don't know you like I do. They worry about me."

Mark stood with his arms crossed just as before, but the hard look in his eyes had softened somewhat.

"They just have to get to know you," Amy assured her boyfriend. "Once they have, they'll trust you like I do."

Mark kept his silence for a few moments, then nodded, relaxing a little more. "All right," he said, somewhat mollified. "As long as it was _them_ and not you."

"It _was_ them," Amy assured the giant teenager in front of her. She blushed a little when she found herself eying his chest and arms again, and that he could tell she was doing it. Looking around for a moment, still feeling guilty, Amy decided to try something a little bolder than she'd normally do.

Putting on her best flirting voice and making sure to smile accordingly, Amy glanced down at Mark's first car and the jacks holding up the front end.

"Why do you guys even bother with jacks?" Amy asked, glancing down at the front end of the silver sports car and then up at her boyfriend. "Can't you just lift up the car and hold it while Henry works on it?"

Mark smiled and laughed, enjoying the compliment and the fact that Amy was clearly flirting with him.

Underneath the Talon, however, Henry wasn't so amused. This girl should have been literally down on her knees, kissing Mark's feet and begging his forgiveness. It was good that she realised her need to apologize, to repent for the mistake she'd made yesterday. But Amy hadn't gone nearly far enough.

_I won't make this mistake with Lisa_, Henry vowed. _I'm going to teach that slut her place_.

Now the look in Mark's blue eyes softened further, and he stood very close to Amy, looking down at her. "You know," the auburn-haired teen said softly, "the party was no fun without you. I wish you could've been there."

"Me, too," Amy said softly.

Then, just like the red-haired cheerleader had always imagined boys doing in her dreams, Mark placed a hand under her chin, raising it so they were face to face. Mark stood very close to her now. Without a word he leaned forward and kissed her, and without hesitation Amy kissed him back. Taking Amy in his arms, Mark expertly began kissing her about her neck. He returned to her lips, and the red-haired girl sighed contentedly as she let him take charge. Mark was such a strong boy, so handsome and wonderful. Amy didn't feel the slightest shame or guilt as she began making out with her boyfriend, right there in his driveway. It thrilled her every time she felt his lips touch hers, felt his strong arms wrap around her and his tongue probe into her mouth. Amy could barely stand how much she already loved this handsome boy. She was lucky to have him.

"Mark!" Henry called from under the Talon, "You can go ahead and put in the new oil now. Mark! _Go ahead_ and put in the new oil!"

Amy's eyes briefly flicked downward towards Mark's first car, but the auburn-haired teen just kissed her again. The red-haired cheerleader instantly forgot about Mark's brother, or anything else in the world. The two teenagers continued making out in the driveway of the Evans home, both of them enjoying the experience immensely.

Briefly, Mark reflected that what Henry had said about Lisa, he could just as easily say about Amy. His brother had reflected that since Lisa was so stunningly attractive, servile, and had given him some of the best sex he'd ever had, it might be a while before he got bored and dumped her. Mark could tell Amy was going to be just the same way. He was going to love screwing her, all the while saying it was because he loved her. They fell for that bullshit every time.

Henry had been sitting under his brother's silver Talon on a wheeled platform, one that you could almost mistake for a skateboard at first glance. He routinely used it to lie on when working on a vehicle, and now wheeled himself out from under the car, an irritated look on his face.

"For fuck's _sake_, Mark," Henry grouched, "I don't see why we got this fuckin' car of yours out for an oil change if you're not gonna-"

The blond halted, seeing the reason his brother hadn't been responding. Henry promptly began to smirk, folding his hands behind his head and grinning at the display before him. He cleared his throat with deliberate loudness. When Mark somehow slipped in a "What?" between kisses as his hands caressed every inch of his girlfriend but her privates- time enough for that later- Henry said, "Should I go back under the car, guys? Give you some private time?"

Amy blushed crimson and looked away; she'd caught the meaning of Henry's words and felt horribly embarrassed. She loved Mark- already he was the best, most caring boyfriend she'd ever had- but this was a bit overwhelming. In her effort to make up for her parents' turning Mark down yesterday, Amy had been bolder with Mark than she usually was. She couldn't tell whether to enjoy it, or be ashamed.

The auburn-haired teen in front of her, however, had no such problems. Turning to look down at his brother, Mark answered with one word- "Yes!"- and deftly kicked the wheeled platform and Henry back under the Eagle Talon that still sat double-jacked in the driveway. Henry was caught by surprise and banged his head on the underside of the car as he went; Mark gently covered his girlfriend's ears while his brother swore with a violence that would have made some of the football team blush.

Mark gently told Amy to forget about Henry- one of the most utterly insincere things he ever said- and soon resumed kissing his girlfriend, thinking about how his mood, already good at the start of the day, was further improved by getting at least some of what he should've had from her last night.

I'll be getting the rest soon enough, Mark assured himself, wanting to smirk as one of Amy's slender, shapely legs brushed against Mark's groin as they pressed close to each other. There was no way she couldn't notice her boyfriend's excitement. Not at the size Mark was.

Finally, though, Mark had to break away. He couldn't bone Amy right here in the driveway, though he knew his brother would no doubt find that hilarious. Mark saw his red-haired girlfriend back to her car, promising her that all was forgiven, that he was sorry himself about getting so mad at Amy last night- and of course, that the four of them would have a wonderful time today.

"I know," Amy smiled, getting back in her car and closing the door. She buckled her seatbelt, and rolled down the window for one more peck on Mark's lips before beginning the drive back to her house.

Mark walked back up the driveway, smirking in spite of himself at the look he saw on his brother's face. Henry had once again emerged from beneath the Eagle Talon and was now leaning against the car's front, emptying the first quart of new Pennzoil into the uncovered opening for the engine's oil container. The blond was also shaking his head, a sly and mocking look on his face.

"That was a darling good-bye kiss, Mark," Henry smirked. "You should've just stopped the foreplay and done her right there. Right in the goddamn street."

"Time for that later," Mark said casually, reflecting his own earlier thoughts. "Once I give it to her once, she's gonna be pleading for me to do it again."

"And again," Henry said, and they both laughed.

"You still got some pills, right?" Henry asked, and Mark nodded. "I didn't need to give Sarah Schreuder any, but I'll probably need to with Amy." The auburn-haired teens shrugged. "You know how it is."

"I sure do," the blond nodded. "No point in giving a shit about her when you're having fun. Good thing I got that chick at the pharmacist's under my thumb." He smirked, thinking of the pretty college graduate who worked the pharmacy counter on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. "She keeps slipping me those morning-after pills because she thinks I'll need one for _her _sometime."

"Maybe you will," Mark shrugged, and so did Henry after a moment. "You know," Henry said reflectively, "as often as we get some I'm amazed Mom and Dad aren't grandparents by now."

Mark laughed; it was the definition of an understatement to say that the Evans brothers were sexually promiscuous. They had been incredibly lucky in every way so far, sleeping with every girl they chose and without even one 'accident' along the way. Of course, it wasn't as if either Mark or Henry worried about it. If they accidentally got a girl pregnant, they'd probably just kill the child. Or the girl. It would be so simple an issue to resolve; it really wasn't worth spending much time on. The pills were really just a formality.

"I'm gonna head inside and grab the rest of my shit," Mark said, starting up the walkway towards the house. "I'll see you out here in a few minutes."

"Yeah, yeah," Henry said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Go inside and jerk off. Just remember to flush; Mom probably wouldn't like finding come in the toilet."

"You're disgusting," Mark said, shaking his head in mock dismay. "Do you think about anything besides sex?"

"Sure," Henry nodded. "Beating up losers and strangling people with my bare hands, mostly."

"_And_ rape," Mark added, and Henry burst out laughing. Briefly he glanced over at the house, shaking his head. "Dude," Henry laughed, "You gotta be careful about saying that. It's illegal, you know."

"Saying that?"

"No, _doing_ it. Rape, that is."

Mark considered that for a moment. "Well, what if I'm the only _real_ man she ever had?"

Henry shrugged. "Oh, well, in _that_ case it's no big deal."

Laughing, Mark turned and headed towards the front porch, opening the front door and heading back upstairs to his room. Across the hall diagonally from Henry's room, it had once belonged to Richard. Mark enjoyed spitting on the memory of unworthy, long-deceased other brother of Henry on a regular basis. All that was needed, really, was his mere presence in the room. Considering Henry had killed Richard, and Mark knew about it and didn't care, the simple fact that someone who not only tolerated Henry's murder of Richard but had actually taken his place was more than enough for Mark to feel like he was routinely mocking Richard's memory.

Once in his room, Mark headed straight for his closet, quickly pulling out the warm coat, pants and gloves he would be wearing while on the slopes. Looking over the items, Mark knew he was only missing one thing. Where had he put the shaded skiing goggles? He had to have those. Mark had tried skiing once without the dark, shaded goggles, and it had given Mark a terrible headache and Henry one of the best laughs he'd ever had. Henry had warned his brother of the glare off the snow, and had always used shaded goggles himself. Mark counted that skiing trip sophomore year as one of the only times he had ever failed to instantly heed advice given by his brother.

After a few moments of looking around, Mark realised the goggles had to be on his closet. Walking over to it, Mark slid open the white-painted wooden door and gazed inside, trying to remember where he'd put the goggles last. He could barely fit, but ventured into the closet to have a better look. The auburn-haired teen spotted the goggles after a minute or so, sitting on the highest shelf.

_Odd place to put those_, Mark thought, wondering why he'd placed the goggles on a shelf where he normally kept some of his most valued possessions. Reverently thought of as his "treasures", they were small keepsakes from wonderful and triumphant moments in Mark's life over the years. There was an Italian switchblade, a replacement for the one Mark had lost in the fire that killed his father. And when Mark reached up to grab the goggles, he accidentally knocked another off the shelf as he pulled them forward. The object tumbled downward, but Mark swiftly shot out his free hand and caught it. The item squeaked and Mark looked down at it, silent and in one instant powerfully moved.

It was a yellow rubber duck. A very special one. Mark could still remember the day he got it from Henry. It had been the same day that he'd moved into Richard's room.


	14. Chapter 14- Something Special

**Chapter XIV- Something Special**

* * *

It was June 6, 1994, exactly fifty years since the first day of Operation Overlord, the massive Allied invasion of France. Privately both Henry and Mark were indifferent to the anniversary, and sometimes talked in their room at night about what things would have been like if Hitler and his Third Reich had won World War II instead. And it was their room now; Henry no longer disputed that Mark had a share of his room. Henry shared his room and its space openly with his brother, impressing both Mark and his parents with his generosity. The boys were so thrilled to be together again, and neither Henry nor Mark would have had it any other way. They played games together, lifted weights together, and talked in their beds long into the hours of the night.

Henry even had shared a 'magazine' he'd stolen from Scott Shepherd at school, winking at Mark and telling him to "clean up" after himself if he decided to do any _reading_ in their room. The two were eagerly experimenting with the changes brought on by their teenage years, learning all they could. Of course, the brothers did their 'experiments' in private, and naturally their parents knew nothing about it. Mark had felt a little awkward about asking Henry what this activity was called, but Henry just laughed and said you called it masturbation. Whenever Mark needed to know something, Henry always had an answer. Mark wondered if the real thing- sex- really was as much fun as he'd heard. It would have to be unbelievably good if it was going to be better than the feeling of killing someone with his brother. Both Mark and Henry reverently treasured the memory of the night close to a month ago, when together the brothers had killed Alice Davenport.

Mark had swiftly grown impatient with his resumed sessions with her back in April, and Henry had proposed simplest and most permanent solution possible. They had killed her, and they'd done it together. The auburn-haired boy knew he would fondly remember that day for the rest of his life.

Today was a special day for a different reason. Mark was packing his things in Henry's room, but it wasn't because he was leaving. He was getting his own room at last.

It wasn't as if this move was caused by any conflict or problems between Mark and Henry. The two were fierce friends and almost constantly in each other's company. They were constantly heading off to smoke cigarettes together, kill squirrels together, or throw bags of nails down on the highway. They enjoyed lifting weights together and admiring the steadily-growing size and strength of their bodies; in fact, that was just the problem. Henry's room was just a little too small for two growing teenage boys and their possessions. As wonderful as it had been for Mark rooming with his brother, he knew the move was necessary. And besides, it wasn't as if the move was anything short of a delight for Henry. The room Mark was getting had once been Richard's.

The auburn-haired boy was truly pleased at the particular room he was getting, and wanted to grin every time he thought of how persuasive he and Henry had been together. Even Wallace had put up some resistance about it, mostly over concern for his wife- but in the end, Mark and Henry had won him over. Gradually, Susan had been persuaded as well, reluctantly giving her own consent. She was out today, running a series of errands that would keep her busy for most of the afternoon. Mark knew that was in part because of her desire to avoid having to see Richard's room transition from her second son's hands to her third's. Neither Mark nor Henry cared much, though. Their mother could do as she liked, so long as she didn't interfere with something they wanted.

Mark knew all about what had happened to Richard; Henry had told him the full story not long ago. Richard, the unworthy brother of Henry, had joined Connie in usurping Henry's importance and stealing his parents' affection and attention. He had come into Henry's life unwelcome, and when possessions of Henry's began to be handed to Richard as Henry "outgrew" them, the injustice of it had become too much. Henry had suppressed his seething anger and waited, holding out for the right moment. It had come one day when Richard was being given a bath down the hall from Henry's room, and Susan went downstairs to answer the phone. Mark remembered how Henry's eyes had danced with a savage joy as he told the story to his true brother, reliving some prized memories. Practically trembling with hate and rage, Henry had crept down the hall and entered the bathroom, drowned the little shit and left him there for his mother to find.

The auburn-haired teen actually felt some disappointment at hearing the tale. It hadn't been because of what happened to Richard; Mark understood that just fine. Richard had gotten just what he'd asked for. But Mark wished he could have been there. If he had been… he'd have killed that useless twerp Richard himself. Or better yet- Mark and Henry could have killed him together. That would have been best of all.

Of course, Mark had played a notable role in further suppressing the unlamented, long-gone Richard. He'd taken Richard's place in the new family portrait that now hung downstairs in the living room, done just a month after his arrival in Maine. Mark might have missed out on killing Richard, but it felt great to know that he was killing Richard's memory, step by step. Mark was all but literally crushing it under his sneakers, replacing his deceased sibling and eclipsing it; already he was more than Richard would have ever been. It was way past time for this shift in focus to happen, anyway. Time for Mom and Dad to devote all their love and attention to their two superior, living sons, not the inferior dead one. Oh, and perhaps there could be some room for Connie. Just a little.

In order for Mark to move into Richard's old room, the deceased sibling's things had to be packed away in boxes and moved up onto the third floor, and down the hall into the attic. Mark also had to pack his own possessions and move them into Richard's old room once it was empty. Throughout today, Mark and his brother had seen Wallace putting on a hearty, let's-get-it-done attitude, an insufficient attempt to hide the pain he really felt. Of course, Wallace's façade might have fooled most people. Henry and Mark weren't like most people, however. They could see through pretty much everybody. And regardless, there was no effort on the part of the brothers to hide or disguise where they stood. They were thrilled that the move was finally happening, and both were openly excited about it.

By now it was 2:30 in the afternoon, and the last cardboard box was being taped up for transport to the attic. The move was nearly done, and the brothers would soon have their own rooms.

"Wow," Wallace sighed, laughing and shaking his head, "You boys are _strong_!" Both of the teenage boys in the room just grinned at each other, enjoying the compliment. "I think I may need to go take a break, guys," Wallace said. "I feel like I could sit in my chair for the rest of the afternoon. And you guys haven't even broken a sweat!"

"It's the weights you got us," Henry said, smiling. "We're working out every day."

"It's helped us in soccer, too," Mark chimed in. "The both of us are doing great playing with the Ravens. We're gonna win a lot of games this summer."

"_All_ the games," Henry corrected his brother. "Girls wanna f-_kiss_ winners. _We're_ winners."

"Darn right," Mark grinned, and the two slapped palms with each other.

"Can you guys get this last box?" Wallace asked, visibly tired from the ordeal. "I'm gonna head downstairs and rest a while."

"Sure, Dad," Mark said, and the boys patiently waited until Wallace had headed downstairs before doing anything.

"So you want me to trash this shit or what?" Mark asked, the instant they could hear Wallace moving around downstairs.

Henry looked like he was tempted, but ultimately the blond shook his head. "No," Henry said, "Mom's out on those errands now, but when she gets back she's might decide to look through some of this stuff."

"Fuckit," Mark said after a moment. "All right. Let's just get this crap up to the attic and go." Damn, did he want a cigarette. He wasn't an addict- somehow, Mark could just tell he was the only one deciding when or if he wanted a smoke- but Mark wanted one all the same. Pumping some of that nicotine into his system seemed to be one of the only things that could regularly calm him down, and Mark felt himself getting pissed off a lot these days. Today had really been trying his patience; what was he supposed to do, act like he gave a shit? Mark wanted to take this damn box and kick it clear through the window, but that would mean an awful draft when he slept in this room tonight. So instead Mark and Henry moved the final box of Richard's old stuff up to the attic, placed it with the other boxes and headed downstairs.

The second stage of the move commenced right away. Mark's clothes were moved into the dresser drawers and closet, his various other belongings placed around the room and his posters put up on the wall. With a wink Henry hid Mark's _Playtoy_ copy under his mattress, where he knew their parents would never find it. Some parents of teenage boys might have done things differently, but Mark and Henry both had no doubt that their parents knew better. It wasn't like Susan or Wallace was about to start searching _their_ rooms. Henry and Mark were different from most teenage boys; they were the good sons. Mom and Dad knew their boys could be trusted.

Finally, after perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes of nonstop work, Mark was carrying the last item into his room. It was a hand-carved, hand-polished wood model of the Royal Navy ballistic missile submarine _HMS Vanguard_, and it was one of the only things left from Mark's old life in Arizona. Mark had made damn sure to take it with him even when he'd burned down his own house to remove his father from the picture, so Mark and his brother could be united again. Mark now took a special pleasure in placing it prominently on his desk, donated by Henry after they'd hauled a replacement desk for his room down from the attic.

"Hey," Henry said after they both stood for a few moments, looking at the model in silence, "I gotta go get something from my room. Can you wait here a minute?"

"Sure," Mark said, thinking that Henry looked like he needed to pee. He was strangely… _anxious_ about something.

"Okay," Henry said, and was gone before Mark could ask him anything about what was going on. He wasn't waiting long, though; within a minute exactly the blond boy returned, holding his left hand behind his back.

"Let me be the first," Henry said with an expansive sweep of his right hand, accompanied by a charming smile, "to welcome you to your new room. Congratulations, Mark."

Clasping his brother's hand in his, Mark shook more than firmly. Henry briefly winced at the pain- Mark was in moments trying to crush his brother's fingers- but rallied gamely. For a few seconds they stood there, eyes locked and grim, amused smiles on their faces. Anyone else their age- thirteen in Mark's case, and nearly thirteen in Henry's- would have cried out in pain and recoiled by now. But not them. Mark and Henry played the hand-crushing game for perhaps a full minute, then finally gave it up when it became clear it was a draw.

Grinning at the brief contest of wills, Henry took a moment to compose himself; the whole time his left hand had remained behind his back. Now Henry's smile faded, and Mark saw his brother looking unusually nervous. Actually, the fact that the blond was nervous at all was unusual- what _ever_ worried Henry?

"Hey," Mark said gently, "What's going on, man?"

"I have something for you," Henry said quietly.

"Another _Playtoy_ magazine?" Mark joked, half-hoping that was it (he could always use another), but Henry just shook his head.

"It's not much," Henry said nervously, as if fearing his brother's disappointment. "But I've had it for a while, and you're moving into a new room…" Briefly the blond boy trailed off, looking away from Mark for a moment or two. The auburn-haired teen was stunned; he'd never seen Henry acting like this.

"Are you all right, Henry?" Mark asked, unsure what to think. But his brother just smiled slightly, still looking anxious as hell. "Yeah," he said, nodding. "I'm okay."

Then Henry said with some effort, "Well, I just wanted you to have it."

Henry slowly took his left hand out from behind his back, handing his brother a little yellow rubber duck. Mark looked up at Henry, stunned, and the blonde began talking nervously. "Um, when I was little, I had that duck with me all the time. This one day, Richard stole it, and-"

Mark cut him off with two breathless words: "I know."

The auburn-haired teen stared down at the toy in his hand, wide-eyed and surprised like he hadn't been in years. He remembered their conversations over the past months, how Henry had told him all about this toy duck and how, as a little boy, it had been one of Henry's most treasured possessions. Then Richard had come into his life, stealing his parents' love and attention without any consideration for Henry at all. The blond boy had endured this with all the patience he could muster, but one day Richard had wandered into Henry's room while he was away and stolen the duck, attracted by its bright colour and ability to squeak when squeezed.

That had been the last straw for Henry. He'd almost been able to stand Richard's usurping his parents' attention and affections, though every day of it was trying Henry's patience. But when Richard had crossed a third line and begun taking away Henry's property, that had been the last straw. Mark understood- he would have killed Richard for that too. In junior high school, Mark had bloodied other boys for lesser offenses.

So Henry had taken his chance years ago, when his mother had left Richard in the bathtub- in six inches of water- while she went downstairs to answer the phone. Henry had gone in there and killed the thieving toddler, then taken back his property. Mark remembered the anger in Henry's voice even as he spoke of this event years later; his voice had become a low, furious hiss. "It was mine before it was his," Mark remembered Henry saying once. This toy meant so much to Henry that he was _literally_ willing to kill to get it back.

Now he was freely giving it to Mark, and if anything appeared worried about Mark thinking little of the gift or even rejecting it. The auburn-haired boy understood the symbolism of this act all too well. This was Henry proclaiming via deed rather than word how much he loved his brother, and how an item he valued enough to kill one sibling for was a worthy present for another.

Mark looked up to see Henry eying him anxiously. "Do you like it?" Henry asked, hesitant but eager for an answer. "Do you- _oof_!"

Henry's words were suddenly cut off as Mark threw his arms around his brother, squeezing him hard enough to break a lesser boy's back. "I love you, Henry," Mark said in a choked, halting voice as warm tears clouded his eyes.

"Mmf," Henry said, too powerfully moved to speak. For a full minute they stood there, hugging each other tightly in the silence of Mark's new room.


	15. Chapter 15- Skiing at Wintergreen

**Chapter XV- Skiing at Wintergreen**

* * *

Mark stared fondly down at the toy duck in his hand. Four years now he'd had it, and next June it would be five. This small, rubber duck, probably worth no more than fifty cents or a dollar when it was made and next to nothing now, had taken on value of a completely different nature. A toddler had been killed for taking it, and from the day he'd received it from Henry, this toy duck had been one of Mark's most prized possessions. It wasn't for its material worth of value, but what it represented, that Mark treasured it so. It was a damn shame Mark couldn't keep it on his desk, right beside his submarine. Instead, he was forced to hide it away in the goddamn closet.

But Henry had taken great care to stress the importance of Mom never knowing Mark had it, and Mark understood. Maybe someday, when Henry and Mark lived on their own and didn't constantly have to worry about what their parents might see, Mark could give the rubber duck the special place in his room that it rightly deserved. For now, it would stay safe in the closet, and Mom would never, ever find it.

Gently placing the toy back on the top shelf of his closet, Mark pulled an empty sports bag out from under his bed and loaded the skiing gear inside. He made sure to pack a warm hat and scarf, mostly in case one of the girls wanted one. Once he had everything he needed thrown in the bag, Mark zipped it up and headed downstairs. There was just enough time to finish changing the oil on Mark's silver Talon, and then it would be time to go.

**XX**

The drive out to the Wintergreen Skiing Resort, northwest of Portland and about an hour away, passed pleasantly. The girls sat in the back, the boys in the front, and as far as Mark and his brother were concerned, that was how it should be.

Lisa and Amy mostly talked to their boyfriends, seldom saying much to each other. Mostly this was because their heads were swirling with love for these large, muscular boys, and neither girl could pay much attention to anyone else. But privately, Amy was starting to wonder if she and Lisa would be able to get along. Growing up, she'd been taught to give everyone a fair chance and never be hasty or harsh in her judgment of others. But since she'd entered her teenage years and grown to become one of the most all-American beauties in her class, Amy had learned that sometimes you couldn't always do things perfectly.

Amy didn't know the slender, stunningly-attractive blonde girl very well, but she knew the type. Lisa was a "mean girl", somebody who would make friends with you one week and then embarrass you horribly the next. She would learn embarrassing secrets about you and threaten to make sure everyone knew them, or if you angered her she'd just go ahead and do it. She was beautiful and gifted with a body that, in its full naked glory, made boys' eyes go wide and their jaws drop. And Lisa was pretty smart, too- smart enough that she knew all of this. It made her arrogant and haughty; Lisa had openly laughed at some of the boys who'd tried to ask her out over the years, regarding them as beneath her. Amy would gently but firmly say no; Lisa liked to make sure the rejection embarrassed the foolish boy enough that he never dared ask her again.

And there was one other aspect of Lisa that Amy was sure was true, and was sure she wouldn't like. A popular "mean girl" like Lisa Doyle was desired by many boys, and by this point in her teenage years was certain to have slept with a couple of them. Perhaps more than a couple. Always the most attractive and popular boys, of course, but to Amy that didn't change anything. Lisa had done It with a few boys- a few for certain- and if anything she was proud of it. What about marriage, when the time came? How would she explain to her husband-to-be that she'd been with others before him? What if something happened- if she got pregnant? And then there were those… diseases…

But no matter what the concern in Amy's mind was, Lisa Doyle obviously didn't care. Whoever and whatever she was, Lisa was proud of it. That much was definitely understood. Amy also privately disliked how sensual Lisa was with Henry; she stood close to him almost constantly, sometimes touching or rubbing him in suggestive ways that made Amy want to gag. It was like Lisa wanted to just do It with her boyfriend, right there on the slopes in front of everyone! Amy made sure not to say anything about that. She didn't want Lisa to get any ideas.

Once they got to the slopes at Wintergreen Resort, however, Amy had plenty to distract her from thinking about Lisa Doyle's love life. She hadn't admitted it to Mark, but she'd never been skiing before. For some reason or another, she'd never quite gotten around to it. Not once in her life. Worse still, Amy could tell Lisa noticed, and enjoyed it. She got her gear on much faster and more skillfully, throwing little smiles Amy's way when Mark and Henry weren't looking. But as always, Mark took her mind off that- he kissed Amy on the cheek and showed her how to use the equipment she'd need, where the lifts were and how to safely descend the slopes. Amy wouldn't admit it, but she felt butterflies going mad in her stomach when Mark helped her mount her skis, his hands always lingering a little longer than they had to.

Henry, for his part, might have had a girlfriend who wasn't the amateur that Amy was, but he topped her easily, swiftly racing down the snowy slopes and demonstrating how skilled and professional he truly was. Lisa, descending the slopes with her boyfriend and trying to keep up, richly enjoyed the view nonetheless. Henry was just so strong, so swift- it seemed like he could endure any physical challenge forever.

Lisa couldn't help but smirk at one point in the morning when they were riding a lift back up to the top of the slopes, each girl cuddled up in her boyfriend's arms; she knew of Henry's stamina in a very personal way now. She could tell Amy wanted to know Mark the same way, too- maybe she already had. Lisa hadn't seen Amy at the party on Friday, but that hardly meant much. She had been undressing Henry with her eyes the whole evening, and then when she finally got to see him naked it had quite literally rocked her world. Henry had been so strong, so fast- it was almost rough. Almost too much. But Lisa had thrilled to be loved by such a powerful, passionate boy; he'd been absolutely _amazing_.

Mark, no doubt, was just the same way. Lisa made a mental note to ask Amy how her first with Mark had been. The gushing, overwhelmed and emotional remarks she was sure to make would be just what Lisa expected. And maybe she could make friends with Amy Philips once they broke through that barrier, and Amy understood it was okay for a girl to discuss what it was like sleeping with her boyfriends. A girl like Amy had probably done It already, even before Mark. Lisa knew some other righteous, pretty church-girls, teenagers who claimed to be just like Amy- righteous, noble, the whole I-won't-do-It-until-I'm-married business. Lisa had heard the whole thing before, and knew it was almost never true. A hot boy was just too delicious, too tempting- Amy just needed to learn that she could let her act down a little, at least around somebody like Lisa Doyle. She was in good company.

"What're you smiling for, Liz? Thinking about something?" Henry asked, holding her close in his powerful arms, his face right beside hers.

"You," Lisa said with a smile, and Henry kissed her.

By 1pm, after some three exciting hours of skiing down the slopes of the resort, the girls wanted to go in. They were having a great time, both of them, but simply didn't have the physical stamina and endurance that Mark and Henry did. That was hardly an uncommon failing, as Mark cheerfully pointed out; nobody had the strength and stamina that the Evans brothers did, not even their own teammates.

When they rode a lift up to the top of the slopes once more and the teens prepared to temporarily part, Henry reached into his black leather wallet- a top-brand one, too, naturally- and took out two Ben Franklin bills, placing one in Amy's hand and one in Lisa's. Amy was stunned, but Lisa just smiled and kissed Henry on the lips; this kind of generosity was just what she'd come to expect from him.

"You guys have some lunch, get some rest, anything you want," Henry said. "Mark and I will take care of everything. Lunch is on us."

"Great!" Amy said, truly impressed by Henry's generosity, and with a parting kiss she began to follow Lisa to the resort's café. Mark held her back a moment, however, gentle but firm. "We'll be up to meet you in a little while," Mark promised. Beside him, Henry grinned. "By that he means an hour or two."

"I'll see you later, babe," Mark said, and pecked Amy on the lips. She blushed, but smiled and thanked him. Mark was such a wonderful boy.

When the two teenage beauties entered the café, Amy's outstanding beauty did more than enough to equalize her against Lisa's more expensive manner of dress. But Lisa didn't lack for beauty herself, and she held her head high as she entered the café. Heads turned.

The café was part of the central ski lodge for the resort, and as they each ordered meals for lunch Amy found herself again thankful for Henry's generosity towards her and Lisa. It was obvious that by herself, Amy could have never afforded to eat here. The lodge was expensive but practically oozed quality, and everything about its interior and exterior was restrained and tasteful. After having a full lunch and a surprisingly good conversation, the two girls retired to a sitting room with a real, live fire going strong in the fireplace. They each had a mug of hot chocolate in hand, and as they sat on a magnificent leather couch near the fire, it wasn't long before the conversation turned to their boyfriends.

"He's _so_ handsome," Amy said, knowing that was an understatement. "I mean, he's just amazing. He's so romantic, and he's always asking me if I need something, or doing little things he knows I'll love. I honestly can't think of a single thing about Mark I don't like."

"I know just what you mean," Lisa said, nodding in her winter khakis and emerald green sweater. "Henry's like that, too. He's so strong he could lift up that Hummer he drove us here in, but he's always nice and gentle when he's with me." She smiled, feeling rather smug. "I bring out the gentle giant in him."

"Mark would never hurt anybody," Amy said with certainty. "He knows how much I don't like it when he gets mad at somebody. And this one time, he took me swimming at the indoor pool near where he lives." Amy sighed, reliving the memory with relish. "I think I forgot what _continent_ I was on when I saw Mark with his shirt off."

Lisa began to wonder if this conversation wasn't somehow a competition, and then swiftly decided that it was. If so, Lisa Doyle would be the victor yet. She wasn't about to lose a game like _this_ to the red-headed church girl!

"If you think seeing Mark _shirtless_ was something," Lisa said, "Just think what he looks like _naked_. I mean, until I saw Henry like that, I just _knew_ I wasn't getting the whole show."

_Now_, Lisa, thought, _Now for the trump card_.

"You think Henry and Mark look good with their _shirts_ off?" Lisa asked, rephrasing what she'd just said as a rhetorical question. "It's _nothing_ compared to how they are in bed. Henry and me, we had our first yesterday at the party." Lisa lay her head back on the couch, sighing and smiling at a truly wonderful memory. She looked back at Amy, speaking with absolute conviction. "It was mind-shattering, Amy," Lisa said in summary. "It literally blew my fucking mind." Lisa saw Amy wince as the blonde girl swore, but it wasn't like Lisa cared. She could curse right along with the most profane of guys.

Lisa took a sip of her hot chocolate, then looked back at Amy Philips, who for now was listening in silence. "So what was _Mark_ like, Amy? Tell me about it. Is _he_ as good as they say?"

Amy sat up suddenly, looking shocked. "What? You mean- in _bed_?"

"Yeah," Lisa said, like she was talking to an idiot. "What did you _think_ I meant? How is he at ping-pong?"

"Look," Amy began hotly, then forced herself to stop and calm down. After a few moments, she tried again. "Mark and I have never done that," Amy said simply. "I'm not… doing it… with a boy until I'm married." She set down her mug on the coffee table, folded her arms and waited to see what Lisa would make of that.

For several seconds, Lisa Doyle sat in stunned silence. She didn't move, and barely seemed to breathe.

_You self-righteous bitch_! Lisa thought, her mind exploding into indignant fury. _Don't you _dare_ look at me like that_!

Oh, yes. Lisa could see the way Amy was looking at her. She could recognize it now, see it for what it was. Amy knew for a fact now- and she'd probably known it before, anyway- that Lisa, as one of the hottest girls in school, had slept with a couple of boys over her high school years. Lisa was proud of it- many more boys wished for the chance to so much as take her out on a date. Compared to the hundreds of boys at Chamberlain High, only a dozen or so had ever dated Lisa, and not many had ever gone all the way with her. Those who were lucky enough to get that far had always been the hottest, the most muscular, handsome and charming. Lisa had chosen tastefully and been rewarded for it- the boys who could truthfully tell of sexual conquest of Lisa Doyle were showered with praise and popularity by their friends, and Lisa was a hero figure and leader among the popular girls.

Lisa was proud of her romantic choices, proud of how much boys desired her. And to be fair, all social considerations aside, she enjoyed sex, too. All those hot, muscular boys she'd been with- it was like getting fucked by a procession of porn stars or fashion models. It felt great in general, and when Lisa was with a boy who really knew what he was doing, along with being well-endowed below the belt- like Henry- it was absolutely incredible. Mind-shattering, even; you could phrase it however you liked and never would words seem adequate. For Lisa, a good night of sex with Henry Evans just defied all description. It was damn good. That was enough.

But Amy Philips didn't admire Lisa the way most girls at Chamberlain did. It was obvious.

_She thinks I'm a slut_!

Suddenly, Lisa felt an urge to throw her hot chocolate in Amy's self-righteous face and storm out of the room. She would come back with a goddamn bucket of boiling water, and-

_No. No, I need to calm down. I need to calm down_.

Lisa forced herself to relax, knowing that if she murdered Mark's uppity girlfriend in a goddamn ski lodge, she'd probably get in trouble and miss out on some more time with Henry. Maybe she'd get lucky and her parents would go shopping for a couple of hours, and then she could bring Henry up to her bedroom for a while.

Tonight, hopefully.

The blonde girl had at first opened her mouth with a razor-sharp comeback ready. She was prepared to absolutely destroy this stupid, naïve girl of a cheerleader, and knew that she was fully gifted with the power to do it. Lisa Doyle's scathing, ice-cold and boiling-hot remarks and insults were legendary, and her ability to reduce any student she turned her tongue on to a shame-faced, nervous wreck was known all over her high school. Lisa's first instinct, her first temptation was to just crush Amy Philips like a bug. Like a fucking _bug_.

But Amy was Mark's girlfriend. Mark clearly liked her, and was showering her with affection and attention just the same way that Henry was doing for Lisa. Everyone in school knew how close the Evans brothers were; there wasn't a single thing that one of them wouldn't tell the other. If Lisa bitched out Amy and she snitched to Mark, Lisa could use her many connections and friends to ruin Amy- possibly for life. But before she could do that, Mark would find out what she'd done. And if Mark found out, Henry would too.

Henry was a powerful, incredibly muscular boy. If he ever became displeased with Lisa… she shuddered to think what he might do. He might stop seeing her as much, might ignore her for weeks on end….

_He might even dump me_.

That last thought scared Lisa more than she would ever care to admit. This red-headed bitch deserved every bit of the tongue-lashing Lisa wanted to give her… but the risk of it coming back to haunt Lisa was just too much. It wasn't worth it. What if Henry became angry at Lisa for bad-mouthing his brother's girl?

So with great care and effort, Lisa nodded thoughtfully instead, drinking some hot chocolate for a few moments.

"Good for you," Lisa said with a warm smile. "I can respect that."

"Thanks," Amy said, smiling back shyly, and Lisa could tell that the redhead thought she meant it.

_I'll see you in Hell before I'll mean something like that, you whore_, Lisa thought, and sipped again on her hot chocolate.

It wasn't until much later that Lisa even considered what an unusual act that had been for her. She'd bitched out loads of girls before, including ones who were currently dating friends of her current boyfriend. Never before had she given a shit what her boyfriend might think of it. Never, even once, had Lisa cared. But Henry was different. Lisa shrugged it off when this did occur to her; why not? Henry was amazing. He was the exception in every way, all of it good. And if Lisa was altering her usual attitude, even towards boys, choosing to allow Henry to constantly be in charge and never demand a thing of him? It was fine. Henry was absolutely incredible, a towering teenage Apollo who made love like a god. If he wanted Lisa to be more submissive to him, she could do that for Henry. It was nothing less than he deserved from her.

**XX**

Mark and Henry stayed out on the slopes for two hours, returning to the ski lodge at exactly three in the afternoon. They spent much of that time racing each other on the Black Diamond slopes, the ones reserved only for the true experts- and sometimes, the expertly foolish. Mark had broken from his swift zigzag pattern on their final run down the snowy mountainside, having spotted some college guy skiing on his own, a little close to the treeline. With a flawlessly calculated move, Mark had braked hard as he slid to the right, spraying a powder-fine spray of blinding white snow into the other skier's eyes. Neither Mark nor Henry knew quite what had happened next, but they knew enough to be quite pleased with themselves.

Before he'd darted away and resumed his swift descent to the base of the slope, Mark had heard a bone snap. The scream that guy had given off had carried all over the slope, and the Wintergreen Resort officials had closed off the Black Diamond slopes soon afterwards so the EMT's could be called in.

Henry was green with envy over it; Mark could tell.

"I hate you," Mark said as they rode a lift back up to the ski lodge.

"Bite me," Henry said. "On the head."

"Come at me, bro," Mark said mockingly, and Henry had slugged Mark with enough force to make a weaker kid projectile-vomit on the spot. Mark, though, simply tensed his abs up a bit, and the blow impacted like a rock against a wall of bricks.

"So what are we gonna tell Amy and Lisa?" Henry asked curiously, once the lift neared the top of the slope.

"Oh, we'll just tell 'em the truth," Mark said casually. "We'll tell Mom about Richard and Davenport when we get back home, too."

"Oh, go fuck yourself," Henry said in an equally casual voice, then lit up a cigarette. The two muscular teens stood outside the lodge for a few minutes, smoking a cigarette and happily recounting the day's events, then headed inside and joined their girlfriends. Within minutes the two couples were in the sitting room with fresh cups of hot chocolate, cuddled up in pairs by the fire.

**XX**

The group finally returned home towards five o'clock that afternoon; Lisa wanted to slip off into a bathroom for some quick 'private time' on the way back, but Henry gently talked her down. She deserved better, he said, and a bathroom stall was way below what was right for Lisa Doyle.

It was disappointing for Lisa that she didn't get to spend some more time alone with Henry that Saturday, the second day in October. But she knew there'd be a lot of Fridays like this past one to enjoy yet. Henry's passion was amazing; he didn't just desire the pleasurable company of girls. He needed them. And Lisa understood that just fine; she needed Henry, too. Needed his presence, his kind and thoughtful acts and words. And above all, Lisa needed Henry to love her. Lying there on those incredibly soft, gentle silk sheets with Henry making love to her, Lisa had felt so good she'd forgotten every care she had in the world. Her worries about the future, those idiots who dared call her a bulimic whore behind her back- all of it and more, forgotten. Lisa needed Henry because he made her feel like what she knew deserved to be- the hottest, most desired girl in the world.

And during the trip back, Lisa thought about something else. She kept thinking about that conversation she'd had with Amy back in the ski lodge, the one in which the redhead cheerleader had informed the blonde popular girl that she was never going to sleep with Mark unless they married. Those words kept coming back to Lisa, and she kept wondering. Not about Amy, or even Mark, but about Henry. Was what Amy said something he was going to want to know?

By the time they returned to the Rockbridge area, that had become Lisa's sole focus among her thoughts. Should she say something? Should she tell Henry, or Mark? What would they say?

Briefly Lisa visualized herself telling Henry, and his anger at the disappointment this would be for his brother. She saw him smacking her so hard it left a burning red Mark. Lisa felt ice run through her veins, and that almost turned her away from saying anything entirely.

Ultimately, though, Lisa's constant hope to please Henry however she could won out. If she didn't tell him, he'd find out sooner or later. Or worse, Mark would find out the hard way, learning it from Amy just as he was hoping to go for the gold one night. If Mark or Henry learned that Lisa had known this about Amy beforehand… it would definitely be worse for her that way.

_I'm gonna tell him_.

Lisa made her decision when she was about to be dropped off at her house. Amy had been returned to hers first, and now the Evans brothers were getting ready to head home for the day. The rear passenger door of the Hummer opened, and Lisa was distracted from her thoughts as Henry, bowing and smiling at her, held out a hand. Taking it, Lisa stepped down from the Hummer. Holding hands, the two teenagers walked to the Doyle house's front door.

"Henry," Lisa said in a small voice, feeling timid beside this giant of a boy. She was hardly short or tiny- a perfectly average five-eleven, in fact- but Henry was well over six feet. He towered over Lisa because he towered over everyone, and next to him the blonde's arms were about as significant as a twig. She feared Henry, but she also loved and needed him. He was the sexiest, most passionate boy Lisa had ever seen. She was probably the first real woman he'd ever had.

"Yeah, Liz?" Henry asked, giving her hand a gentle squeeze as they headed up the brick walkway.

"I have something I need to tell you," Lisa said, feeling more nervous by the moment.

They neared the door, and Henry let go of her hand, looking at her. He was neither angry nor pleased; his expression was purely neutral. Calm. He was listening, and waiting. Lisa decided to go ahead; there was nothing else to do now but hope.

"Amy and me were talking while you and Mark were out on the slopes," Lisa said quietly, looking up at her boyfriend. "I-I told her about how great you were, um, you know… Friday night." Lisa blushed crimson, but Henry just shrugged, smiling a little. "It's true," he said simply.

"Well," Lisa said as she tried again, "Amy said she hasn't done that with Mark yet. And she isn't going to. Not until she's married." She looked silently up at her boyfriend, waiting to see what he would make of that.

For a few moments, Henry was silent. For as much as ten seconds, in fact, he said nothing, and his expression was one of total calm. Finally, Henry smiled slightly, a charming look the way he did it. That small smile lit up his face, and something kind and happy twinkled in his eyes. Lisa loved staring into Henry's blue eyes; it was like she could get lost in there forever.

Then Henry leaned in and kissed her, sweeping Lisa into his arms. She threw hers around his neck, and they French-kissed right there in front of Lisa's house for a few moments. Briefly Lisa wondered if her parents were watching. Years ago, the embarrassment of that even being possible would have killed her. Now, she just didn't give a damn.

Finally, they broke apart again, and Henry looked Lisa in the eyes. "Thanks for telling me this," he said quietly. "I'll make sure to say where I learned it when I talk to Mark."

"What's he gonna think?" Lisa asked anxiously, suddenly hoping that Mark would smack Amy instead. Maybe Lisa would get to watch.

But Henry just kissed her again. "You let _me_ worry about that," Henry said gently. "I'll take care of it."

"All right," Lisa said, and whispered with a smile, "Come over anytime you want."

"The next time your folks aren't home," Henry promised, also in a whisper.

Finally, with a third kiss goodnight, they separated and Lisa went inside. Lisa took the minor scolding she had to endure from her parents for kissing a boy right in front of the house like that, but she could tell her mother didn't really mean it. Her father, on the other hand, seemed to. But somehow, Lisa got a feeling that he wasn't going to get in the way of anything. Her big, strong, gorgeous blond boyfriend would take care of anything that came up.

"I'll take care of it", Henry said, and Lisa thought again of what he had looked like, felt like, sounded like on Friday when they'd gone upstairs and made love an absolutely astounding three times. It had worn Lisa out like she'd never thought possible- but it had also been the best time she'd ever had on a Friday night, or any other day of the week.

When Lisa went to bed on Friday night- as always wishing Henry was in bed beside her- she thought of Henry, and of what she'd told him about Amy, and she knew beyond a doubt that she'd done the right thing.

What Lisa wished she knew right now was what Mark was gonna do about it. Odds were it was gonna be something good.

_And by good_, Lisa thought as she slipped off to sleep, _I mean not at all good for Amy. But she called me a slut- or might as well have. So Mark can do whatever he wants to that self-righteous bitch. Whatever he does is just fine with me_.


	16. Chapter 16- The Messenger

**Chapter XVI- The Messenger**

* * *

It was a good thing Anthony Summers liked dogs. The animal shelter was full of them. Dogs, cats, guinea pigs, hamsters- it seemed like they had at least one or two of damn near everything. But above all else, the place had dogs.

Anthony hadn't exactly planned on spending his afternoon over here. A good Christian boy, he went to the Methodist church his family attended- and had for years- every Sunday morning, and then- if it was a good day- was fucking Rachel silly by 3:00 that afternoon. It depended on whether Rachel wanted to go shopping first, and how much Anthony felt like including in the foreplay. But no matter what, he took his soul and his girl- not to mention his balls- straight to Heaven in two completely different ways every Sunday. A big, strong boy with the handsome, movie-star looks of a future Frank Sinatra, Anthony shared the Evans brothers' high-handed attitude towards girls and the good life.

And like them, when it came to sex Anthony possessed a sense of real entitlement. He deserved a good fuck at least once a week. He was handsome, charming, in superb shape- and well-endowed below the belt, as he smugly liked to remark from time to time. However, as good as Anthony had it, he knew he wasn't the king at Chamberlain High. He was a rich, playboy prince- but he had two kings to answer to. And if one of them- the blond-haired, blue-eyed King Henry, in this case- called and told Anthony to get his ass over to an animal shelter and pick up a dog today, Anthony would certainly be doing it. He had it good right now- real good- and Anthony knew he owed the Evans brothers a lot of it. He might be a little late getting some more of Rachel Gray today, but late was better than never again. Henry wasn't a guy you just said no to, and he didn't give a shit if you were hoping to bone your girl that afternoon. What he said went. Anthony wasn't foolish enough to tell Henry he had other plans- and then suffer the consequences of that refusal.

The woman running the shelter that Sunday thought Anthony was cute; she was a volunteer from some college nearby, and had Henry's order to have the dog picked up by 1:00pm not been as rigid as steel, Anthony might have tried to convince her to let him come over for a night. Or two. So for now Anthony just made sure to remember her name, ask when she'd be here next- she blushed at that one. Those redheads always did.

Finally, Anthony forced himself to actually pay attention to the dogs. Walking up and down the rows of cages in the shelter, Anthony finally picked out a good-sized German Shepherd. Whatever unfortunate circumstances had landed it here, the dog was in pretty good shape- fully grown, and with no outstanding physical problems. The folks here at the shelter had taken good care of it.

As they returned to the front desk and Anthony signed the papers to take the German Shepherd with him, the college girl- God, did Anthony love that flaming red hair- smiled and said she hoped he'd be happy with it.

"Oh, it's not for me," Anthony said with a slight smile. "For a friend."

The redhead paused for just an instant- was it… disappointment Anthony saw there? Was he really that good?- but recovered quickly. She smiled warmly, adding with a wink, "I hope she likes it!"

"Thank you," Anthony said with his warmest, most charming smile. "I'm sure she will."

He winked at the college girl then, and she blushed as crimson as her hair.

It took just a couple minutes for Anthony to remove the German Shepherd- Rover, his nametag said- from his cage and walk him to the giant Ford Expedition that Anthony had parked out front. It was in the medium-shade Forest Green, Anthony's favourite colour in the Ford truck lineup of 1997. Rachel kept insisting it was better named Moss Green; Anthony told her that was cute. Privately, though, he could have hardly cared less either way. Just as long as he got Rachel's pants off nice and often- "going bowling" was his favourite pretext to give his and Rachel's parents- Rachel could call the Expedition's green paint anything she liked.

Finally, Anthony got the dog into the massive cargo bay of the giant Expedition, slipping the redhead college girl his phone number as he shook hands with her and left.

_I'm too smooth, man_, Anthony thought with a grin as Rover stretched out in the backseat, already relaxed. _I'm just too damn smooth_.

The route that the black-haired, Italian-American boy took away from the shelter was about the same one he always used when driving to the Evans house. One of their closest friends- a truly privileged position indeed- Anthony had been invited over often through the years. They smoked, played violent video games- always violent- raced their cars and talked about girls. The stories of how much pussy each of them was getting would have sounded like so much macho bullshit to anyone who didn't know the three- or four, as the hanging-out nearly always included John LaFleur- but anyone who did would have said it was true. Anthony prided himself immensely on his athletic, social and sexual prowess- he was a rich, muscular, all-American playboy, and there was nothing he couldn't have. Or didn't deserve.

This time, though, Anthony's drive to the Evans house halted a mile short exactly. There was a long, winding stretch of tree-lined road that led towards the Evans home, crossing over the interstate in the process. As he drove across the bridge, Anthony saw Henry's titanic black Hummer parked on the side of the road. Henry himself was up on the bridge, standing on the opposite side from the lane Anthony's Ford crossed in. Anthony pulled his truck over behind the black Hummer and parked, but didn't dare say anything to Henry just yet. The tall, blond teen was lightly dressed for the weather as usual- Henry seemed to have an absolutely insane attraction to pain and discomfort… even his own, it seemed.

And one look told Anthony that Henry wasn't to be disturbed right now; he was standing at the stone railing of the bridge, watching the traffic come and go in the northbound and southbound lanes. Anthony remembered the times he, Mark, Henry and John had come out here in middle school, smoking cigarettes and throwing rocks down on the bridge. The bridge clearly had some nostalgic or emotional value to Henry and Mark- they just loved hanging around here back then, good weather or bad. Anthony knew he might always wonder what this bridge meant to Henry and Mark- but he knew he'd never ask.

Anthony opened the driver's door of the Expedition and got out, his jeans-clad ass saying a fond farewell to the truck's warm leather seats as he headed out into the cold. The wind hit him immediately- it was a chilly, overcast day- and Anthony swore under his breath, sticking his hands into his designer jacket and wishing Henry would hurry up. Cupping his hands against he wind, Anthony soon lit up a cigarette and wished he had a bong instead. A little pot- or a lot of pot- did wonders to make you stop giving a shit about how fucking cold it was.

That, or the unspoken threat of getting beaten up by Henry if you complained about it.

After maybe five full minutes- that much at least- Henry came walking lazily over to the two trucks, a tense, annoyed expression on his face. Anthony's smile of greeting began to falter as he immediately wondered what he'd done wrong.

_Oh, shit_.

"Goddamnit, Tony," Henry grouched as he walked across the road to join the black-haired teen, "I've been out here an hour waitin' for you." He looked straight at the other teenager. "You hear me, man? A fuckin' _hour_."

"S-sorry, Henry," Anthony said, hoping the cold wouldn't keep him from seeming properly apologetic. He knew there was a solid chance Henry was lying- he lied about a lot of things. But Anthony wasn't about to be an idiot and try calling the blond out on it.

An amused look crossed Henry's face, and a cheerful look lit up his eyes. "You cold, Anthony?" Henry asked, sounding both curious and amused at the same time.

"No," Anthony lied right away. He forced a smile. "It's cool."

"Like Rachel's pussy," Henry said smugly. "Mark told me all about it, man. Sounds like she's just right for that hot Italian dick of yours. Especially after Mark loosened her up for you."

Anthony frowned, displeased in spite of himself. "Hey," he said in dismay, "Come on, man. That ain't-"

"You got the dog?" Henry asked, interest gleaming in his eyes. Anthony looked at the blond adolescent, and right away it was obvious Henry didn't give a shit about Tony Summers' latest girlfriend. All he gave a damn about was this dog he'd told Anthony to get.

"Yeah, man," Anthony said, glad the subject was off his girl again. "Got him right in the back." For what it was worth, Anthony liked Rachel- she was a nice girl, friendly and eager to please her handsome, charming boyfriend. And absolutely stunning to look at naked. She had never tried to hide the fact that she'd slept with Mark when she dated him- it wasn't as if Anthony didn't know about it anyway- and Anthony prided himself on being of comparable size and skill to the auburn-haired giant. Rachel certainly seemed plenty satisfied after Anthony was done, and he didn't like the mocking tone Henry and Mark had when they mentioned Rachel- and how easily Mark had dumped her. They seemed like they enjoyed seeing Anthony get embarrassed or upset- and very likely they did.

"Well, show me the goddamn _dog_, then," Henry said, impatience returning to his voice. "I've got shit to do."

"All right," Anthony said, and obediently headed around the back of the Expedition. Twisting a handle on the window that covered the upper half of the rear cargo door, Anthony raised it and motioned to Rover with his free hand. Rover eagerly bounded up to the rear door and Anthony caught hold of the leash hooked to his collar. Handing it to Henry, Anthony waited silently to see Henry's reaction.

Henry smiled, nodding in approval. Inside, Anthony sighed gratefully; he'd done his job well today.

"A German Shepherd," Henry said thoughtfully. "Good choice, Tony."

Curiosity suddenly got the better of Anthony, and before he could stop himself he asked a question. "Hey, man, why did you need a dog, anyway?"

Henry turned to Anthony without a word, and instantly the cold, steely glare made the black-haired playboy regret his curiosity.

"Uh," Anthony stammered awkwardly, "Uh- I'll see you at school, man. Um, see you on Monday. Yeah." Henry just shrugged, raising the rear door and letting the German Shepard out. The dog looked curiously at Anthony, but followed Henry over to the Hummer readily enough. Trying not to look like he was in too big of a hurry about it, Anthony got back in his truck, started the big Triton V8 back up and drove off. He had a girl to pick up for an ice skating date, and there were times when it really didn't pay to ask questions.

**XX**

Henry's cold, neutral gaze followed the green Expedition as it drove away down the tree-lined road, and after a moment he shook his head. "Fuckin' wop," Henry spat, then shrugged, as if dismissing his own remark with indifference. He didn't really have a problem with Anthony Summers for being Italian, any more than he had an issue with that

"Bark," Rover said, looking up at Henry. The blond teen's cold, withering gaze seemed to give the German Shepherd excuses to look elsewhere, though, and his ears went down a bit. Henry smiled a little at that; he still remembered another dog he'd met years ago. It was that big, fierce one, the dog that had chased Henry and Mark- then only cousins, sadly- across a wood footbridge. Henry had come back to the closed gate at the end of the bridge, staring the barking, snarling dog right in the face. The dog's fierce, explosive barks had soon quieted and stopped. Then Henry had won the brief staring contest between boy and dog; he'd made the animal turn and walk away, tail between its legs. A day later Henry had come back again- this time he'd killed it.

Mark had been horrified at what Henry had done. That was the way he was, back then. Henry had saved him from that, and Mark had saved Henry from what he somehow knew had been coming- suicide, death by his own hand before he was even eighteen years old. Sooner or later, the boredom would have gotten to Henry. Being the only intelligent person in a sea filled with idiots would have become too much.

_How very lucky I've been_, Henry thought, then abruptly sneered down at the German Shepherd as Rover sniffed at his pants leg. Henry hated dogs. He hated cats, too, to be fair. And when it came down to it, Henry hated pretty much all animals- and all people. Henry disliked everything and everyone- except for Mark. Just Mark.

Henry remembered to get two canvas shopping bags out of the Hummer's cavernous cargo area. One held a change of clothes that wasn't for Henry. The other bag was empty- for now. Taking hold of Rover's leash, Henry walked him gently into the woods. He took care not to needlessly frighten or startle the animal- he needed it to stay calm, stay still. He walked a distance into the woods, well beyond sight and general earshot of the road. It was a fairly remote, two-lane road anyway- and on a chilly, overcast day like this, there wasn't likely to be a lot of traffic- or anyone on foot at all. Even so, Henry made certain the tree he tied the dog's leash to was well out of sight of the road.

Then he left; he had to go get Mark. There was only one way to deliver news like Henry was about to do. He knew the dog, the two bags he'd brought- they would all be needed for it.

When Henry got back to the house, Mark was on the computer set up in their room; he was looking between it and a science magazine, searching for showings and events coming up in the Portland area. Henry wanted to ask what that was about, and promised himself that later he would. But for now he had more important things to do.

Mark was surprised at Henry's request to come with him to the woods by the bridge, but got in the Hummer willingly as always. He trusted Henry completely, and knew that whatever his brother wanted him to come out there for, there was a good reason behind it. Thinking of the bridge just up the road from where they would stop put Mark in a good mood; he fondly remembered the many good days spent there. "You and me, dropping Mr. Highway on the interstate," Mark chuckled as Henry drove through the tree-lined, two-lane road under a gray, overcast sky. "Good times."

Henry slowed and turned the massive Hummer around, pulling onto the shoulder on the side of the road and stopping the truck. "We're here," Henry said simply as he shifted the truck into park and got out. "Come on."

"Come on _what_?" Mark asked, feigning ignorance. "Or _who_? I was actually thinking Lisa's face was a good option-"

"Hey," Henry snapped with mock anger, "She's _my_ girl. You can't do that 'till _I've_ had her."

"Well," Mark said as he stepped down from the Hummer and his brother walked around to join him, "You _have_ had her. More than once." He smirked. "Getting bored yet? Feel like sharing?"

Henry considered that as he stood next to Mark. But he gave the auburn-haired teen beside him a sly smile, adding, "I don't think I'm getting bored with Lisa _just_ yet, Mark. She's… a _lot_ of fun."

"More fun than that college chick we raped?" Mark asked.

"Which one?" Henry asked in turn, and the both of them burst out laughing.

Henry started walking into the woods and away from the road, and Mark followed him. "Mark," the blond adolescent began, "have you ever considered that you and me- we're actually doing those girls we pick up a favour? I mean, we're the only _real _men they ever had."

"Yeah," Mark said with a smug grin, "It's true. I'm pretty… _well-endowed_."

"It runs in the family," Henry said with another sly smile, and the brothers laughed. No moment in either of their lives was enjoyed as much as one they spent together.

"So what's this about, Henry?" Mark asked curiously, after they walked for perhaps half a minute in silence.

"I've got news for you, Mark," Henry said with some care. Right away, the caution in his voice made Mark's powerful, muscular frame tense, and his eyes narrowed.

"What is it?" Mark said quietly, his voice dangerously low. His anger, his suspicion- someone who didn't know the brothers might have believed it was for Henry. But the blond teenager wasn't at all worried- this was what he had gotten that goddamn dog up ahead for.

"It's about Amy," Henry said, and Mark's face grew darker still. "That- is she sleeping around behind my back? Sleeping with the little freshmen because she's afraid I'm too big?"

_Only in their dreams_, Henry thought, wanting to burst out laughing at the very idea of a senior girl- and a cheerleader at that- choosing some pencil-dick freshman over one (or both) of the mighty, well-endowed Evans brothers.

"No," Henry said, shaking his head. They were standing close to the tree where the dog was tied up now.

"So what is it?" Mark demanded impatiently, staring hard at his brother. Already he was contemplating taking things up a notch the next chance he got- skipping straight to anal with Amy for their first time… and making it good and rough, just to show her who the hell was in charge here.

That was a problem with these cheerleader girls- as desired as they were by some of the hottest boys in the school, the cheerleaders were especially prone to forgetting their place in things. They were objects of great sexual desire, and any boy could consider his popularity considerably boosted if he was charming and persuasive enough- as well as attractive enough himself- to sleep with one. But that's all they were, in the end- objects. Mark knew already that Amy needed to be reminded of that.

Standing still and facing his brother, Henry paused, as if considering how he should say what he was going to say next. There really wasn't any way around it, and Henry knew that his brother- a true warrior at heart, Henry was coming to suspect- preferred that news always be given to him directly. That whether it was good or bad, the person delivering the news tell Mark straight to his face, without a hint of cowardice or reluctance. No beating around the bush.

So that was what Henry did now. He looked Mark right in the face and began to speak.

"When I was taking Lisa home yesterday, I walked her up to the door at her house. She said she had something to tell me; she'd been talking to Amy while we were out on the slopes, skiing after they went in."

Mark didn't say anything; his hands were held close to his side, clenching into tight fists and unclenching again. But he nodded for Henry to go on.

"Lisa was telling Amy about how she slept with me on Friday," Henry said, struggling for a moment to keep a satisfied smirk off his face; his sexual conquests were as incredible and fascinating to girls at Chamberlain as they were to the guys. But the satisfaction he normally took in that- and in his impressive stamina and performance in the bedroom- had to be set aside for now. So Henry paused, took a breath and said, "And Amy told her that she's never slept with any guy. She's never slept with you, and she's not going to because she's waiting until she gets married."

The auburn-haired teenager didn't say a word, but he looked literally furious. He was ready to beat to death the very first living thing he saw.

And now was the time. Henry turned Mark's attention to the dog standing by the tree, obediently waiting while the two human adolescents talked. "I got him for you," Henry said simply, gesturing with one hand.

What happened next would have made most anyone else vomit, or even faint- the sights and sounds Henry witnessed in the next minute would have scarred many "ordinary" people for the rest of their lives.

But Henry couldn't have stopped watching even if he'd wanted to. His eyes glowed with an eerie, unnatural delight as he watched what happened. Mark didn't just kill the dog- he destroyed it. With his bare hands alone he broke its back, tore its legs off completely. The ground turned a dark, deep maroon that was almost black, and when Mark punched the dog's ribs in, it uttered a howl of pain that was almost human.

Henry just stood there watching, the cold stinging his bare hands and whipping through his light jacket. It was hard to tell which he liked more- the horrendous pain the animal had to be enduring, or the strength Henry was gaining by continuing to discipline his mind and master control over his body's resistance to the elements. He stood silent as Mark's hands and clothes grew bloodier with every second, feeling truly thrilled, absolutely transfixed- in fact, when Henry came down from the adrenaline high later and noticed a dull, happy ache in his crotch, he would realise his excitement had taken another effect, and go back to his room to go change his underwear.

It was pitiful, in a way, how truly helpless the German Shepard was against the bigger, stronger predator that was attacking it. Had they both been on their own in the wild, Mark could still have easily killed a whole pack of these dogs and eaten their flesh raw. The blood excited him, invigorated him- Mark looked much, much happier- or at least less pissed- when he finally brought a fist down on the dog's skull and caved it in. He stood up, sighing and noticing for the first time all the blood there was on his clothes. And his face.

"Uh," Mark said hesitantly, "You got a change of clothes, man? Mom's not gonna like it if I track all this in the house."

Henry was already moving forward, picking up what was left of the dog and tossing it in the larger of the two bags. Gesturing at the other- which Henry had wisely placed on the other side of the tree- the blond said, "Got you a change of clothes, there."

In his customary manner of not fucking around about things, Mark didn't ask to wait till they got home and go change in the shed. Neither did he bitch about the cold, and insist he change in the back of the Hummer. No, Mark did what Henry figured he would; he stripped naked and changed right there in the cold.

As he did, Henry decided to make a little joke.

"Man," Henry said with a smile as he looked the other way, "Can you _imagine_ how many girls would literally _kill_ just to _see_ you right now, Mark?"

"I'll show 'em another kind of tree-hugging," Mark sniggered, and it made Henry feel worlds better just to hear that. It was a good sign.

Finally, Mark came around the side of the tree, folding up his bloodied clothes- even his underwear had gotten some of it- and putting them in the smaller bag that Henry gave to him.

Looking solemnly at his brother, Henry added, "By the way, I thought of taking a freshman and tying him to the tree instead, but I thought you'd rather take a life that had actual value."

Mark looked at his brother for just a moment, attempting to stay in a dark and stormy mood. But within a few moments Mark's angry mask cracked, and he burst out laughing, actually hanging onto Henry's broad, powerful shoulders as the humor- and truth- of what Henry had said hit him.

"Oh, Goddamnit," Mark said when he got enough air to speak again, "That's _so_ fuckin' true."

Henry didn't say anything. He just smiled. It was… good to see Mark smiling. To hear him laugh. It was good to see that, indeed.

"And you know what?" Mark asked, and Henry looked at him. "What?"

"That's why you're my brother," the auburn-haired teen said, smiling and affectionately ruffling his brother's smooth, neatly-combed blond hair. The blood wasn't entirely gone from his fingers, though, and Henry immediately began cursing and rubbing at his hair as he realised he was becoming a new kind of "strawberry blond". His fussing and irritation just made Mark laugh more, though, and in the end Henry gave up. He would have cheerfully killed Martin Brodinsky for such a brazen act, but Mark he instantly forgave. It just didn't seem to be in Henry to be mad at him- not about anything.

**XX**

The drive back to the house passed quickly, both the brothers talking amiably about the dog Mark had just killed. They focused on that, Henry suspected, because soon enough the topic would have to turn back to Amy Philips, the redhead trophy girl who was "too good" for a nice, satisfying fuck. And that wasn't going to be a pleasant subject.

_She doesn't know what she's missing out on_, Henry thought with a smirk. _She has no fucking idea what she's saying no to. Or who_.

Walking to the cliffs behind the house, though, Mark began to bring up Amy again.

"Who the _fuck_ does she think she is, turning _me_ down?" the auburn-haired teenager ranted, livid with anger. "Doesn't she know what I want, I fucking _get_?"

"It's not a big deal," Henry said with a shrug. "Just yank her pants off sometime and give it to her. She'll love it so much, she'll _beg_ for it after that."

Mark smiled at his brother's simple solution, and at the compliment- both were accurate and true, of course. But… this was going to be different. Mark knew that. Amy Philips planned on saying no to him- and he wasn't about to let that happen.

"I'm not about to let that fucking bitch tell me no," Mark vowed, "_That's_ for fuckin' sure."

"So what do you plan on doing?" Henry asked, hefting the bag he was carrying the remains of the dog in as they walked. "You wanna rape her?"

"If I have to," Mark said. "If that's the way she wants it, she gets it."

"Well," Henry said, "Be careful. If she tries to go to the cops, you're gonna have to kill her. Remember why we always kill those college girls afterwards? It's so they can't tell anyone. But this is different, Mark. Amy goes to the same school as us. You rape her, people might find out what happened. That's risky."

They had reached the cliffs; Mark halted short of them, thinking about what Henry had said. The blond teen headed up to the edge, tossing the bag containing what was left of the dog Mark had killed over. Henry watched it fall, his eyes cold and unemotional. The dog had been alive, and now it was dead.

Happens to everyone.

And Henry took real pride in knowing that his and Mark's time- if it ever came at all- wouldn't be for a long, long time. But… Henry never, ever wanted to get old. And yet he _would_, if he lived long enough. No one had yet found a way around that.

Maybe Mark and I can, Henry thought, and took real satisfaction that nothing- even immortality- seemed out of reach when he had his brother. Meeting Mark had created a new world for Henry. It had quite literally changed his life.

Turning back to the auburn-haired teenager standing a few feet back from the cliffs, Henry essayed a small joke. "Too bad John isn't up for this sort of thing, you know?"

Mark, clearly deep in thought, shrugged as he came out of it. "Yeah. It is."

Henry smiled. "He'd probably puke if he saw what you did to that dog."

The auburn-haired teen laughed a little. "It's true."

"You know what?" Henry said, a little to himself. "I think John really is on our side. You know? Even if we killed somebody, and John knew we were lying when we talked to the cops, he'd stay quiet."

"He likes the pussy he's getting too much," Mark smirked, and Henry laughed. John LaFleur was a loyal, intelligent and hilariously predictable friend. Whatever cracks in his loyalty might have been left by shortcomings in affection and respect for the Evans brothers, fear easily filled. And besides- thanks to the fact that John had accepted Mark's offer of friendship on behalf of him and Henry years ago, John LaFleur was now on top of the world.

Good-looking from the start, he was now in excellent shape, immensely popular, had a kick-ass car to drive and a trophy girlfriend to take home every Friday night. John wasn't as mean as Mark and Henry, but he could quiet his conscience when he felt it was necessary. John LaFleur had been looking the other way while Mark and Henry fucked with people for years. But at the core, Henry and Mark both knew John wasn't like them.

Like Anthony, John was just a good-looking, popular boy who loved the life he'd gained through being friends with the Evans brothers too much to ever do a single thing to jeopardize it. What John loved wasn't deliberate cruelty, or killing- it was living the good life. He loved riding the fastest roller coasters, speeding down the highway at speeds few others dared, flashing his gorgeous, dyed-blonde hair and having all the hot cheerleaders he could find enough time to fuck. John loved having fun, and on the highest and most thrilling scale possible. And only Mark and Henry could give him that.

No, Henry knew he and his brother didn't need to worry about John Myron LaFleur. Or Anthony Ferrucio Summers, for that matter. They were solid guys, the both of them- loyal to the end.

But there were more important things to consider for now. Mark had a jaw-droppingly hot cheerleader who planned on denying him what he deserved, and that insolence- that monumental idiocy- _had_ to be punished. What other response was there?

"I wonder where we'd put the body," Mark said quietly, smirking as he thought of snapping Amy Philips' neck after taking what he'd come for in the first place. It was an… _intriguing_ option.

"Oh, I don't know," Henry said with noticeable sarcasm. He shrugged his broad shoulders, turning away from the wind briefly as he lit a cigarette. "We could always take her to the Hall. I mean, we're already over there all the time anyway."

"Fleetwood Hall?" Mark asked, feigning ignorance.

"No shit, genius," Henry said. Then he paused, as if considering. "Actually, I meant we toss her off the bridge like fuckin' Mr. Highway."

That got Mark laughing again, as jokes made by Henry always did. The blond looked at him with a more serious look on his face after a few moments, though. "You need to be careful, but whatever you do about Amy, I'll support it. I'm behind you all the way."

Mark nodded, appreciative as always of his brother's understanding and support.

"I think I'll try something else, first," Mark said after a brief silence. "Killing Amy would be risky."

"If you got caught, I'd have to go kill the Portland Police to bust you out," Henry said matter-of-factly. He paused, taking a drag on his cigarette. "Might not be time for that yet."

"We'll get to it later," Mark agreed, and both of them grinned. Then he thought again of Amy, and what he was going to have to do in order to deal with her. In a sense, maybe his first impulse had been overreacting.

Yes, it was insolence, an unforgivable kind of stupidity that Mark would truly love getting to punish Amy for. But Amy was just another cheerleader. They all had the same slender bodies, the same beautiful, shapely legs- and the same hope of getting fucked silly by a hot boyfriend every Friday night. They were all the same, and yet most of them went to church every Sunday and acted like they weren't sleeping with boys all the damn time. Amy had to be just like that- she was a slut like all the rest of the cheerleaders. She just didn't realise it yet.

He couldn't help reflecting, briefly, on the killings he and Henry had done so far. There were far fewer than either brother would have liked- their budding celebrity status in the Rockbridge/Portland area had done them no favours on their ability to move and kill unnoticed. But it was satisfying for the auburn-haired teen to know that he and his brother had taken another person's life more than once during the course of their own.

There were the hitchhikers, of course, and the hikers- both of which Mark and Henry had picked up from time to time. For the most part, that was pretty much it- for all the pushing and shoving they'd done of the weak, unpopular kids at school over the years, neither Mark or his brother had been able to cross the line and kill one of them. There was too much attention on them, too great a chance of getting caught. But then there were a few other instances- ones in which it hadn't really seemed like "murder" at all. Mark and his brother knew that for a fact- their first murder together had been that way.


	17. Chapter 17- An Annoyance

**Chapter XVII- An Annoyance**

* * *

It was May 14th, 1994. Mark wanted a lot of things, and all of them right now. Right fucking now. The auburn-haired thirteen-year-old was holding onto a glass ball with both hands, gazing at the dark blue oil and water swirling around inside. The two could mix any number of ways, and the oil would break up into lot of tiny balls if you shook the glass ball hard enough. But always- always- the oil and water would separate again.

Someone watching- and Alice Davenport was, from her stuffy old leather chair across the room- would have likely believed that Mark was deep in thought, ever the moral and sensitive one. Was Mark thinking about his mother, his father- the both of them, at once? Was he thinking of his new family here in Maine, and the one he'd lost for good this past year, out in Arizona?

Mark knew better, though. He was concentrating on looking at the contents of the glass ball because it was better than concentrating on a single thing the old bat said. He was also gripping it good and tight because if he didn't, why, one of his hands might just raise the glass ball and hurl it straight at Alice Davenport's old, stupid face.

What did Mark want? Oh, sure, he'd told his new parents, Wallace and Susan, and Alice Davenport the story he needed to. He wanted things to be right again, he wanted to fit in at school, he wanted his parents back even though he knew he'd never be able to. It was a very convincing story, especially with the skill Mark told it. Visiting with Mark one night in his room, Henry had confided that the whole thing was hilarious for the blond preteen. He had almost pissed his pants watching Mark lie his ass off one day, throwing in some fake tears for good measure while talking with Susan. It was priceless, Henry said, and Mark agreed. It would be a lot funnier when he didn't have to put up with this crap anymore, though.

But what did the auburn-haired boy really want, right now? He wanted a smoke, preferably with Henry. He wanted a fuck, though since he hadn't had one yet- already an increasingly annoying fact for both him and Henry- a good jerk-off session in the bathroom would do. He wanted to go back in time and beat the hell out of that weak little shit Alan Parks again- except this time, Mark would kill him. The thought of killing Alan Parks thrilled Mark in a way he never could have imagined, not long ago.

It was incredible, really. Just amazing, to think of what Henry had saved him from.

Mark would be thankful for that as long as he lived. There wasn't any doubt about it.

Why did thinking of killing Alan Parks cause a certain organ in Mark's trousers to stiffen? And did it make him gay if he wanted to, you know, maybe rape the dork a little first? It wasn't about the sex- it was about adding to the hurt. The pain, the humiliation. And if Mark got to have a little sexual stimulation as part of his reward for going to so much trouble… was that so wrong?

Goddamnit. That old bat Davenport was talking to him again. Cursing inside and fighting back a wave of indignant fury at having his thoughts interrupted, Mark resolved to ask Henry about it later.

"Huh?" Mark said, looking up from the ball he'd been staring at.

"I was asking how you feel about Henry," Alice Davenport said patiently. "I remember when you first got here, you and him seemed to be having some problems."

"He's not the problem," Mark said firmly, then added with some uncertainty, "But I wonder if I am."

"Do you feel like you don't have a place here, Mark?" Alice Davenport asked, and Mark struggled to keep quiet as his anger pulsed strongly at her words. To think that he, Mark Evans, would not have a place here in Maine! There was noplace else Mark wanted to be, not in the whole goddamn world. The winters were obviously the best- though still getting used to them himself, having only experienced one, Mark could see why Henry so loved the cold. It whittled a man- or boy- down to his true self, and forced the strong to rise above the weak.

But Mark only shrugged, looking uncertain and apprehensive.

When he didn't say anything, Alice Davenport prodded again. "Do you feel like Henry doesn't really accept you as part of his family?" Oh… that one made Mark angry. He would find something to kill with Henry later, just to prove her wrong.

Alice Davenport would do.

Now that… that was something. It wasn't the first time Mark had gotten this idea- really, he'd wanted to murder Alice Davenport since the day he'd come back to Maine and had to start seeing this old phony Davenport again soon after. But now… his patience was waning, and Mark had been seeing Davenport for a while. He was obviously adjusting well, especially for someone who had endured what Mark had. But the auburn-haired boy's tolerance of this make-believe psychiatrist bullshit was about gone. It was time to talk with Henry about offing the old bat. Ending his counseling sessions early.

"I don't know," Mark said. "I think Henry likes me just fine. Wallace and Su- Dad and Mom like me too."

Alice Davenport nodded, the picture of sympathy, attentiveness and understanding. "They do, Mark. Any time I see them I can tell that they do."

"I know," Mark said. He was staring at the glass ball again. Better than looking at the old bat's face.

"So where's the problem, Mark?" Alice Davenport asked. "Where is the puzzle missing a piece?"

"I'm not sure," Mark admitted with a shrug. "I think I'm worried…" he halted, as if too many powerful, complicated emotions were in the way. He just couldn't seem to speak. But Davenport waited patiently, and finally Mark added, "I think I'm worried that if I start to act like I have a family again…"

"…You'll lose them, too," Alice Davenport finished, and Mark gave a slight nod, blinking away tears as they tried to enter his eyes. The Davenport woman pretended not to notice.

After a few moments of silence, in which Mark looked appropriately miserable, Alice Davenport gently added, "You'll be all right, Mark. You have a good family here. They care about you, and they'll look after you."

"I just hope they'll still be here tomorrow," Mark said.

"They will."

I know, you dumb bitch, Mark thought, but the anger never showed on his face. It never did.

Some six minutes later, as the session was coming to a close, Mark noticed something. He almost missed it- thinking eagerly of his hopes to have a smoke and some "private time" on the toilet with a 'magazine' soon, Mark only just happened to glance over towards Alice Davenport as she opened a small plastic bottle that she'd taken out of her purse. Noticing Mark glancing at her curiously, she held up the white pill and said it was a nitroglycerine pill, meant for use by people who had trouble with heart conditions.

"So you do?" Mark asked, and she nodded. "As long as I take these pills nice and regular, I'm fine." Mark smiled a little, as if that pleased him. The auburn-haired teen was pleased, but for an entirely different reason.

"What would happen if, like, you couldn't find your pills or something?" Mark asked, making sure he sounded appropriately cautious and curious.

Alice Davenport smiled slightly. She was always doing that, and it drove Mark crazy. He wanted to see a different expression on her face one of these days- preferably a dead one.

"Let's hope that doesn't happen, Mark," Alice Davenport said. "It would be better if it didn't. And I know it's something I need to be careful about- that's why I always keep them here, right in my purse." She patted the purse for emphasis, taking a moment to unzip it and place the bottle back inside, then picked up a small glass of water and swallowed the pill.

Mark nodded. "It's best to be careful," he said, and the psychologist nodded in agreement. Mark hated her.

A few minutes later, Mark came to the entrance hallway of Alice Davenport's home as his mother's white Grand Voyager pulled into the driveway. Henry and Mark both thought that it was too plain, that its upscale relative, the Chrysler Town & Country, was far more fitting to a family of their class and stature. But Wallace and Susan preferred modesty over extravagance at times, and for now- for now- there was little the brothers could do about it.

Besides- Mark was perfectly happy to see the Plymouth today, plain or not. A young boy, close to thirteen years old, with blond hair and stunningly-fit muscles visible under his dark red t-shirt and jeans, was hopping out of the front passenger seat of the minivan. Immediately, Mark's already-improved mood got a lot better. Henry always came along when their mother or father came by to pick Mark up from his sessions with Alice Davenport, and he always asked how things went, and if there was anything Mark needed to get the bullshit off his mind.

Ordinarily, Mark would ask for his brother to accompany him out back or to the nearby cemetery for a smoke, and then blow off some steam upstairs in the bathroom with one of his favourite fuck-books. Within an hour, the auburn-haired boy would feel better, and the infuriating waste of time that was each and every session with that old bat would be off his mind for the day.

Today, though, Mark had news. For once, a session with Davenport had actually been productive… and Mark was already getting an idea of how he could make sure there were never any more of these stupid visits, ever again.

Mark was normally hiding a scowl when he came out to meet his mother and brother, but today he was hiding a smile. The adults never noticed this, the simple signs and subtleties that told of Mark's true emotions and mood. But as always, Henry did. As Susan and Alice Davenport exchanged greetings and talked about "how are things going" and so on, Henry glanced at Mark and cocked his head in a questioning manner.

What's up? The blond's curious expression said. You don't normally look so happy here.

Mark read those words in Henry's questioning look right away, and gave a slight shake of his head in answer. He cut his eyes at Susan, and Henry's cool blue ones followed. The blond nodded after a moment; he understood. Whatever was making Mark happy, it wasn't something they could talk about in front of Mom. He'd have to tell Henry later.

During the ride home, each of the brothers couldn't help but grin when they realised the entire conversation, however short, had passed between them without a word.

Once back at the house- which, as Henry and Mark both liked to remind lesser kids of at school, was beyond a doubt upper-class- the brothers decided they would go downstairs to the weight room they'd so eagerly clamored to get. When Susan cautioned her boys not to hurt themselves, Mark and Henry each threw the other a glance, then pulled off their shirts, right there in the kitchen.

"Boys!" Susan exclaimed, but the sight of her sons' upper bodies gave her pause. Henry was twelve, and Mark thirteen, but they both were clearly in amazing shape for any age. Well-defined muscle had been sculpted out of the skinnier bodies of their early years, and suddenly Susan could see why Henry and Mark both were so eagerly looking forward to going to the beaches of North Carolina this summer. They had been working hard down in that weight room over the past months- and now they really did have something to show off.

Smirking, Mark couldn't help but ask, "See something you like, Mom?"

Henry gave his brother a good-natured smack to the back of the head while Susan spluttered indignantly, and with graceful bows and a sincere apology the two boys withdrew from the room.

"That was hilarious," Henry said, down in the basement once the two had stopped laughing. "_Damn_, was that funny!"

Mark, busy admiring his chest and arm muscles, pretended to only just be noticing. "What?" he said, looking at Henry.

The blond just shook his head in good-natured reproof, heading across the basement living room and opening the door to the boys' weight room. Wallace had bought only the best equipment for his sons, and once in a while made use of the equipment himself- though since Henry and Mark had each taken Wallace on and beaten him single-handedly in a couple boxing matches, he tended to work out by himself. Neither Henry nor Mark would publicly say it- there was no need, really- but they knew why. Wallace had a growing sense that his sons were stronger than him, were steadily eclipsing him in every way. And while he was justly proud of this, the boys could tell their father was afraid of them.

They liked that.

"You gonna come in here, jerkoff?" Henry called, interrupting Mark's continued admiration of his impressive upper body. He could hardly wait to start showing it off to the girls- he'd be getting laid for sure, and soon.

"You got a dick like Alan Parks!" Mark shot back, and in an instant there was a flash of blond hair in the light from the weight room as Henry bounded out into the basement living room. Mark was instantly up to meet him, though, and the two boys crashed together and fell to the floor of the basement.

"Take that back, you!" Henry ordered, pinning his brother to the floor. "Take it back!"

"Why should I?" Mark said insolently, and in the second or two that Henry was distracted thinking of a reply, he shot a knee up and struck Henry square in the balls.

"Aw, fuck!" Henry gasped, collapsing and curling up in a ball. "Oh, shit… my balls…"

Panting a little as he got up, Mark approached his brother with concern on his face. He hadn't really meant to do anything. "Hey, Henry," he said gently, "You okay, man?"

"Yeah," Henry said suddenly as he rolled over, "I'm great!"

Before Mark could even begin to react, Henry sat up and kicked his brother square in the chest with both feet; Mark flew across the room and slammed into the wall, making the entire room shake.

Henry got up laughing, wincing a little at the pain rolling around in his privates but absolutely refusing to give in to it. Mark took his brother's outstretched hand and stood too, laughing as well. Grinning, they both headed into the weight room and began to work out.

"Why didn't Mom or Dad come downstairs to see what was going on?" Mark asked a few minutes later, after the both of them had changed into exercise shorts and begun lifting pairs of 40-pound weights.

"Oh, they know we fight and box all the time," Henry said with a shrug, pleased at the way his biceps bulged with each lift of the weights. "It's no big deal."

"Yeah, it isn't," Mark chuckled. "We could strangle some dork down here and nobody would even check. They'd just assume it was you and me boxing again."

"Speaking of which," Henry said as he raised the two 40-pound dumbbells directly over his head and focused his arms and shoulders on keeping them there, "Didn't you have something to tell me, Mark? Do you like therapy now?"

"Fuck that," Mark said, but grinned anyway. "I got some great fuckin' news."

"Get laid yet?" Henry said, a minor sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead.

"No," Mark said, "It's better than that."

"Better than _sex_?" Henry said, feigning disbelief. "Damn. I mean, if me and my hand feels great, and me and a hot girl is _better_, what could be better than _that_?"

"Killing the neighborhood shrink," Mark said as he continued his reps with the dumbbells.

Henry had been holding the weights up for a full minute now; he finally let them down, sweating a little. Wiping his forehead off, he looked at his brother, clearly pleased. "So, you finally got tired of her, huh? What's the news, then?"

"She's got heart trouble," Mark said, his excitement making him want to rush and say everything at once. "I saw her taking these nitroglycerine pills when I was there today."

Returning to curling the weights in his hands, Henry nodded. "Good. That's good, Mark. Thinking of stealing those pills?"

"Only if we're gonna scare her," Mark smiled. "Just enough that she needs 'em."

"And maybe a little more," Henry said casually, and they both laughed.

"So how do you think we oughta do it?" Mark asked, curling the dumbbells in his arms again and again. "You know, what time of day?"

Henry didn't say anything. After a few moments, Mark looked at him curiously. "Henry?"

The blond twelve-year-old boy's eyes were almost literally glowing; he almost appeared to be literally entranced by something. Mark didn't have a hard time guessing what, after coming to know Henry so well.

"We're really gonna kill her," Henry breathed, a smile creeping out onto his face.

"Yep," Mark said, setting down his weights and throwing a muscular arm around his brother's firm, athletic shoulders. "And you're gonna help me do it."

Henry didn't say anything, but he grinned in a way that made Mark thank himself a thousand times for taking a chance and being Henry's friend. It had paid off more than either of them could have imagined.

**XX**

Mark's next session with Alice Davenport was on Wednesday after school, two days later. This one passed far more quickly than normal, as expected; Mark felt like he had all but literally breezed right through it. And why not? He and Henry had already worked out a plan; after tonight, Mark was never going to have to put up with this old bat's half-baked bullshit, ever again.

This time, though, Mark had come wearing a black baseball cap with the Army ROTC logo embroidered in gold thread on the front. It was a favourite hat of his, and Mark made sure to forget it back in the living room where Alice Davenport would receive visitors and conduct many of her counseling sessions.

While his mother and Alice Davenport were talking as they usually did, Mark pretended to remember his hat, and headed back into the living room to get it. Once in the room, he quickly darted over to the armchair that the psychologist had been sitting in, rifling through the purse she'd left there.

After only a few moments, Mark found what he was looking for. Pocketing the small plastic bottle, he picked up his black baseball cap and walked back out into the entrance hallway. Mark didn't say anything, but the small, clever smile on his face was more than enough for Henry to know what Mark was saying.

_I've got it_.

The next stage of the plan the brothers had worked out came after dinner, when the two headed out the back door.

"And where are my boys going now?" Susan asked with a smile, knowing she probably wouldn't get a direct answer. Henry and Mark were independent from the start, and that desire to operate on their own only increased with the onset of the teenage years.

"Sorry, Mom," Henry said as he smiled back. "That's a secret."

"Classified Secret," Mark added. "Don't know if you're cleared for that, Mom."

"Well, as long as you're back by dark," Susan said. "Your secret business won't take long, I hope?"

"No," Henry said, smiling as he glanced at his brother, who smiled back. "It won't take long."

This stage of things was a little difficult for Mark, as it involved a lot of waiting. They vanished into the woods behind the house for a while, smoking cigarettes and talking about anything that came to mind while waiting for nightfall. As it grew dark, Mark and Henry headed back inside, and an hour after their parents had gone to sleep, they slipped back out through an unlocked window on the first floor (one that Henry had deliberately left unsecured earlier in the day) and made their way into the backyard.

It had taken Henry an hour to move two sets of black clothes, ski masks, Italian switchblades (a new one for Mark had needed to be obtained, of course) and gloves out to the treehouse in the backyard. With Susan and Wallace at home during that time, he'd needed to be extra careful about being seen while moving to and from the treehouse. But in the end, Henry had taken care of it- and now, as the brothers climbed up into the treehouse, Mark grinned as he saw two identical stacks of clothes, ski masks, gloves and switchblades.

There wasn't room to change in the treehouse; the brothers headed into the backyard shed once they'd climbed down. It didn't bother either of them in the least as Henry and Mark both stripped down to their underwear and put on the black clothes; both brothers were entirely comfortable in the other's presence. Leaving their regular clothes stashed away in a cabinet, the brothers headed out into the woods, soon vanishing into a warm night whose darkness was only interrupted by the light of the moon.

The trip to Alice Davenport's house was maybe ten minutes by car, at least twice that on foot. For Henry and Mark, the journey took over thirty minutes, due to the need to move slowly and use the greatest possible concealment. Excitement drove both of the brothers on, though, and Mark didn't feel like the trip took much time at all.

The house in which Alice Davenport lived was much like the others in these heavily-forested hills north of Portland; it was old, of considerably greater size than was needed for the number of residents in modern times, and set a significant distance away from the nearest neighbor. Alice Davenport, like many residents in the area, had inherited this house from her parents. Henry and Mark both felt gratitude for the Davenport ancestors in deciding to plant so many hedges and bushes around the house; it made their reconnaissance work much easier.

It wasn't long before Mark spotted Alice Davenport; she was sitting in the living room with the TV on. Tapping his brother on the shoulder, Mark smiled and pointed at a particular first-floor window of the house. Henry grinned and took out his stiletto, flicking it open and making a sawing motion near his throat.

The auburn-haired teen nodded; he could barely contain his excitement, barely hold back his aggression. As they'd talked about beforehand, one brother (Henry) headed for the front door to ring the doorbell in about two minutes, while Mark crept low across the back yard and towards one of the sliding glass doors on the back deck.

Henry had theorized- and Mark suspected- that Alice Davenport was a woman not much concerned with security. It was as if by truly living out her disbelief in evil and in trying to understand people, by applying that trust in man to all aspects of her life, she could guarantee her safety. Mark was prepared to force the sliding glass door open if he had to, but as it happened, there was no need; the auburn-haired teenager grinned as it slid open when he began to push, moving quietly on a well-oiled track.

_Ding-dong_!

That was Henry at the front door. Moving into the kitchen at a low crouch, Mark could hear the noise of the TV- sounded like it was on a news channel- and the sound of Alice Davenport getting up and going to answer the door.

With a silent word of thanks to Henry, Mark moved swiftly and silently into the living room, unplugging the base of the corded phone sitting on an end table there. He'd passed by another phone in the kitchen, but didn't feel the need to worry about that one- if Davenport made a run for the kitchen to use the phone there, either Mark or his brother could easily deny her its use.

Heart pounding with excitement and adrenaline racing through his veins, Mark moved behind the armchair, grateful for its tall back- it would make him quite impossible to see when Davenport came back into the living room.

And she did, just a minute or so later. Mark had to put a hand over his mouth to suppress a snigger, as he heard her muttering to herself, no doubt frowning in confusion and wondering who that had been.

_Oh, you'll know soon enough_, Mark thought with a grin.

He waited maybe five minutes. Mark wanted to chuckle when he thought of Henry on or near the porch, sitting absolutely still but wanting to pace like a caged animal. He'd gone without killing a person for years, and Richard had been quite some time ago. But Mark waited no longer than he had to, just long enough for Alice Davenport to return to her evening news-watching and forget about the doorbell-ringer quite completely.

Then he stood up, rising soundlessly to stand at full height and look down on the psychologist in her chair.

Mark reached down with both hands and grabbed her about the neck.

The squawk of surprise and fear was so genuine Mark actually giggled, but he quickly turned the sound into a growl as he forced Davenport to her feet and flung her to the floor.

Wheezing in terror, Alice Davenport looked up and saw Mark coming around from behind her chair, and her eyes immediately widened as she spotted the switchblade in his hand.

_Snick_! As Mark pressed the button on the knife's handle, six inches of Italian steel jumped into being. He moved towards her, grinning in anticipation. But Alice Davenport reacted quicker than he thought, and sprung to her feet. Breathing hard and clearly fighting down panic, she made a run for the door. Ordinarily this might have bothered Mark- but this time it didn't.

Alice Davenport screamed as she flung open the front door, and Mark wanted to cheer as he saw another black-clad, ski-masked figure standing there. Henry.

"Yaaah!" Henry growled, lunging forward and narrowly missing as he took a swipe at the psychologist with his own switchblade. That was two near-misses, and with boys like Henry and Mark there wouldn't be many more…

Stumbling back away from the front door, Alice Davenport fled for the safety of the second floor, screaming in terror as she heard the two intruders close behind her.

Henry took the lead as they charged up the stairs, spinning left to charge at the bedroom door as the terrified psychologist attempted to close it. She was moving quickly to slam the door shut, and had Mark or his brother been slower or dumber she probably would have succeeded. Instead, Henry slammed into the door so hard he actually grunted in pain- but Mark, knowing his brother well, knew the pain was also cause for delight.

Then the second of the two teenage boys struck the door- he could tell from the way Henry had impacted that Alice Davenport was leaning against it. When Henry had rammed it with his shoulder, the door had held- barely. When Mark hit it and added his force to the blow as Henry pulled back and struck the door a second time, the older woman had no chance. She was thrown violently back, crashing to the floor as the door to her bedroom was flung wide open.

Mark advanced into the room, laughing softly as Alice Davenport retreated around the side of her bed, looking around for something to fend off her attackers with. He was still laughing when he kicked her in the stomach. Hard.

Doubling over and coughing, Alice Davenport never even had time to look as Henry moved around the other side of the bed. He crawled across it, grabbed the Davenport woman by the hair and forcefully yanked her back onto the bed.

Grinning under his ski mask, Mark advanced again, slowly raising the switchblade and aiming it at the terrified psychologist's throat.

Suddenly, the elderly woman began to grimace, clutching at her right arm and muttering weakly, "My heart!"

**XX**

Alice Davenport saw what happened next almost distantly, as if in a dream or a daze. The man with the knife, the one about to stab her, suddenly stopped. The six-inch blade was withdrawn and folded up, and the man reached up to his head, pulling off the ski mask he was wearing.

It was unbelievable. It was impossible. But there was no mistaking that tousled auburn-brown hair, that handsome, beaming face.

It was Mark Evans.

In her terror, Alice Davenport realised, she had never noticed that her attackers- both of them- were no taller than five-foot-five.

Wearing a wide grin that revealed a full set of perfect white teeth, Susan Evans' golden-haired boy came around the bed to stand side-by-side with his brother, both of them smiling down at her in a way that only scared her more.

_Wait_, Alice realised, _Maybe_ _this was a joke! Maybe they just meant this as a prank_! Abruptly clinging to that last hope that these two boys hadn't come here to kill her, Alice Davenport became intensely aware of the fluttering, strained feeling in her heart. All that had been going on had raised her heart-rate and blood pressure enormously, and she could feel trouble coming.

"It's my heart, Mark!" Alice Davenport pleaded. "The bottle, get the bottle of pills from my purse. Hurry!"

With a look of comprehension dawning on his face, Mark Evans nodded. "Oh… you mean _this_!"

In an instant, the auburn-haired boy reached into his pocket and held something up.

The bottle of pills was in his hand.

How could Mark possibly have it already? How was that even...

It didn't matter. All Alice Davenport knew was that she needed the medicine in that bottle, and she needed it now. The pills in that small, white plastic container could save her life- if she could get them. Reaching out with a trembling hand, Alice Davenport gave a sigh of relief as Mark's hand moved the bottle forward to meet hers-

-and flung it across the room.

Dropping his switchblade and clutching his middle, Henry Evans burst out laughing, hard enough that he struggled to stand. It… it made no sense. Alice Davenport couldn't understand. Why was this funny?

**XX**

Mark Evans stared down at Alice Davenport with a totally different expression now. His merry, amused expression was gone, and a cold, hateful stare had taken its place. Henry's laughter had stopped as abruptly as it started, and now he gazed down at the psychologist with a similar look of hatred, of cold, absolute loathing.

And fascination. Henry wanted to watch someone die. He wanted to see it again, just like with Richard all those years ago.

"You believe in evil now, you fuckin' bitch?" Mark demanded, but Alice Davenport just stared up at him, wide-eyed, seizing up and gasping as the heart attack hit her. She never answered Mark's question, but he didn't care. Within a minute or so she was dead.

In the silence of the room, Henry sighed, smiling. "Feel better?"

Mark nodded. "Yeah." He grinned. "A _lot_ better."

Henry picked up his switchblade and pocketed it, and in just a couple minutes the brothers returned the bottle of pills to Alice Davenport's purse, reconnected the phone downstairs, re-locked the front door and closed it fully, then headed out the back door and left.

**XX**

It was a powerful memory; one of the best in all of Mark's life. But it had happened under the best of circumstances, and of course Henry and Mark had never been caught. Never been in danger of it, even, which wasn't true when it came to the idea of Mark raping Amy. She was a beautiful girl, more than attractive enough to catch Mark's eye- but odds were that if Mark was forced to rape her to get what he wanted, he'd only be doing it once. Was that worth risking his freedom- and his brother's?

"I seem to remember it took us a while getting back," Henry said reflectively. Apparently he'd been thinking about their first kill together, too. That happened sometimes- one of the brothers would begin thinking about something, and the next thing they knew, it turned out the both of them were.

"Yeah," Mark said with a slight smile, "it did. Because _you_ had to stop in the woods and jerk off."

"Hey," Henry said with mock indignance, "What was I _supposed_ to do? It gives me a woody, man. The killing."

"Does it?" Mark said with mock ignorance. "I wouldn't know."

Henry just chuckled. "Yeah. _Sure_ you don't." After a few moments of quiet, Henry looked at his brother. "So what's the plan, Mark? About this Philips bitch?"

"Well," the auburn-haired teenager said after a few moments, "I'm gonna make killing her a last resort. I don't want to risk getting us caught unless I have to."

Holding the smoldering cigarette between his fingers, indifferent to the frigid wind whipping around him as they stood near the cliffs, Henry nodded in approval. "It's a good final plan. Good last resort. What's the first one?"

Mark shrugged. "I'll do what I always do. I mean, she wants me- they _all_ do. I just have to convince her of it. I'll wear her down, see if I can't change her mind the usual way." The auburn-haired teen smirked, adding, "Maybe when me and her are alone sometime, I'll just drop my pants for a minute. Not even some self-righteous bitch could resist me after seeing that."

Henry grinned. This plan, too, was excellent- both he and Mark enjoyed the use of immense charm and awe-inspiring sex appeal in their relationships. When Mark really turned on use of both of them, he could be very persuasive to say the least. For his part, Henry figured there was a damn good chance it would work. Mark would wear down Amy's resolve, make her forget all about that vow she'd made about marriage. She'd be sleeping with her boyfriend within a week or two at most, and be damn glad she'd started to.

And if that didn't work? Well, Mark would just have to savour the one time he did take what he came for from Amy. She'd probably cry, and complain, and overall really be quite boring. But in the end, she'd shut up and just accept it. Otherwise Mark would just kill her.

"If I end up having to kill her, though," Mark added, "I'm not ruling that out."

Henry sniggered. "Oh, really? I thought you were going to."

Attempting mock anger- and not doing so well as always- Mark glared at his brother. "Blow me."

The blond shrugged, breathing deep as he inhaled more smoke from the cigarette. "That's Amy's job. You gotta point that out to her, is all."

"I can't say no to the redheads, man," Mark grinned. Then he chuckled, thinking about what he'd just said. "Well," he added, "I can't say no to the blondes either. Or any of the others, really."

"As long as they're 8's, 9's or 10's," Henry said simply, referring to the 1-10 scale a lot of guys used for "rating" a girl's appearance.

"Of course," Mark said, as if it went without saying. Which it did, with Henry, Mark, and pretty much all the other popular guys at Chamberlain High. The Evans brothers had done a lot to see to that- they'd taken a school that only somewhat over-glorified the athletes and rich kids, only slightly placed too much emphasis on materialistic teenage values, and blew it way out of proportion.

The freshmen guys lived and died by the code Henry and Mark had inspired- it was funny for the brothers, watching as these guys pushed to appear as cool and attractive as possible, and to get the enjoyment of sex out of their relationships ahead of anything else.

"So," Henry said as he flipped his cigarette over the side of the cliffs- and Mark joined him as he lit up another- "That's that for right now. Any other fuck prospects coming up?" He gave his brother a sidelong glance, smiling in that warm, charming way that never quite seemed to touch his eyes. It did when he looked at Mark- but only for him. It had been a long while before Mark, too, had learned how to do that.

Mark grinned as he remembered Julie Michaels, that hot new chemistry teacher at school. He definitely had some good news for Henry.

"Actually," Mark said with a smile, "I am wearing down Ms. Michaels, too."

"Gonna have to start calling her 'Julie'," Henry said, smirking. "Never gonna get laid calling her Miss Michaels."

"I'm getting there," Mark said, trying not to laugh. "You shut the fuck up."

Not the least bit offended, the blond teen shrugged as they began walking slowly back through the woods to the house. "So what's the plan?"

"It's simple," Mark said. "I'm gonna fuck Julie Michaels. All I want."

"How original," Henry sniggered, and dodged nimbly as Mark took a swipe at him. "I meant the plan for right _now_."

Mark's impressive, barrel-like chest swelled with pride as he thought of his progress so far; he was well on his way to doing what every high school guy dreamed of but could never achieve. He relayed the full extent of his progress thus far, happily reliving the memory of the day he'd made Julie blush when he talked to her after class.

"You think she's a virgin?" Henry asked suddenly, once Mark had finished speaking.

The auburn-haired teen thought about that for a moment. A young woman like that, not even thirty years old, smart, flowing blonde hair- tied up during school hours, of course- and with a body to _die_ for…

Mark shook his head. "No," he said. "I doubt it."

"You know what I think?" Henry asked, and Mark nodded for him to go on. He always wanted to hear what Henry thought about something. Or anything. "I think that's helping you. She's already slept with a guy or two, so she's been there. You know, seen a guy naked. And what I bet she's done at least once now is tried to picture what _you_ look like naked."

The auburn-haired teenager grinned, taking a drag on his cigarette. That he liked to hear.

"She'll get to find out soon enough."

"So what's the plan?" Henry asked. "Something I can help you with?"

"I'm gonna kiss her this week," Mark declared. "Fuck her just as soon as I feel like it."

"Bold, simple- easy to remember," Henry remarked. "I like it. And it'll be good for you, Mark. You're gonna enjoy her; I can just tell. You gotta get the rest of the way to winning her over, though."

"That's my chess game," Mark said with a shrug.

"Well, if there's anything you need, just let me know," Henry said. "Just say the word, brother."

"You know I will," Mark said, throwing a strong arm around Henry's broad athlete's shoulders. They walked home under the overcast sky, close as any brothers who ever lived. Mark, for his part, actually found he was looking forward to raping Amy. Sure, he'd most likely knock her out first- put something in her drink maybe. But if he did it while she was awake, she'd protest, and cry, and sob some more when it was over. Just like those cute college girls Henry and Mark shared now and then. Yes, it would be noisier if Mark raped Amy while she was awake… but it was actually kind of exciting


	18. Chapter 18- Another Monday

**Chapter XVIII- Another Monday**

* * *

During the drive to school Monday morning, Mark realised that he'd be seeing Sarah Schreuder again today. The pretty, modest senior girl wasn't in any of his classes, but he'd be seeing her around in the halls. And as fun as it had been fucking her brains out on Friday night, Mark knew he'd need to shut her up and keep her from asking for some bullshit commitment. Knowing girls like Sarah, she probably thought that Mark's decision to have sex with her was an act of love.

It was funny to think about. Funny enough, in fact, that Mark was still having a little chuckle about it when he spotted Sarah a few minutes before his 1st Hour class. Henry noticed Mark going over to talk to her in the cafeteria, shrugged and headed off to Calculus. Mark didn't worry a bit about being late- he knew Henry would cover for him if necessary, and Decauter would never let a black Mark end up on either Evans brother's record in any case.

"Hey," Mark said, sitting down across from her. She was alone at this table, and had been reading some novel of hers.

"Oh!" Sarah exclaimed, jumping nervously in her seat and closing the book with a snap. She blushed furiously when she saw how Mark was looking at her. She'd seen the same look on him on Friday night. When this strong, handsome boy, this amazing man among men, had made love to her… and made her feel so good it was like there wasn't a trouble or care in the world.

"I really… um… I really enjoyed seeing you Friday," Sarah said, blushing crimson again as she remembered vividly the sight of Mark Evans with his clothes off.

"I did too," Mark said with a slight smile. He paused, wondering if there was enough time to slip off to the auditorium- which was almost always unlocked- to have a little 'fun' with Sarah. A glance at the clock on the wall across the room said there wasn't. Too bad. Besides, Mark- and his brother- had standards. Unlike the majority of guys at this school, who were content to fuck just about anywhere that there was room for two people to sit, Mark preferred to have a nice, comfortable space set aside, private and all for himself. Plus, the girls always thought it was so romantic that Mark wouldn't use anything but a bed, and if anything just adored him more for not trying to screw them in the backseat of his car every Friday.

That was what bedrooms were for.

But there'd be time enough for that later. Mark had enjoyed Sarah Schreuder- who really was about an 8 on the 1-10 scale of attractiveness- on Friday, and given the way she clearly worshipped the ground he walked on (like so many girls at Chamberlain) Mark could have her again anytime he liked. But he had his mind on two other women at the moment, both of them better-looking than Sarah. He needed to talk her down- at least for now.

"Listen," Mark said, taking care to choose the right words. And appearing appropriately polite, even cautious. "I, uh, I had a lot of fun Friday. I really did. But you know I've already got a girlfriend, right?"

Blushing pink again, Sarah nodded, brushing at her dark brown hair absentmindedly. "Yeah." She sounded like she wished it wasn't so- and probably she did.

"Well," Mark went on, "That complicates things. I mean, I'm going steady with Amy, and I can't just cheat on her." A shameless lie, given the fact that Mark had slept with Sarah on Friday, but it wasn't like Sarah, of all people, was gonna point that out.

Sarah nodded, again with some regret, so Mark continued, "So, I gotta leave this as it is for right now. I can't just break up with Amy because you and me had a great time on Friday." Mark smiled, and so did Sarah. She liked hearing that.

"But," Mark said with a slight smile, "I'm not just gonna forget about you. If me and Amy doesn't work out- and I have a feeling it won't- I think I'll give you a call sometime. Go see a movie, whatever you wanna do. For right now, though, I need you to keep this between us. Okay? Don't tell anyone."

The pretty, brown-haired girl nodded, her gray-blue eyes darting between Mark and the table as if she was afraid to look at him. Like he was… too good for her. As if sensing this, Mark reached out and gently set a hand under her chin, lifting it up until they were eye level with each other.

"Hey," Mark said softly, "I'll see you around." Then with a quick glance to confirm no one else was in the cafeteria- 1st Hour classes were about to start- Mark leaned forward and kissed Sarah on the lips. Then he was gone, heading off to his own first class of the day. Sarah drifted off to her own 1st Hour class in a daze, barely even noticing when the teacher asked why she was late. Normally, Sarah would have been mortified at such negative attention, but today she didn't care. She was pretty enough for Mark Evans to make love to, and that was the only thing that mattered.

**XX**

Following the end of Calculus in 1st Hour, Mark caught Amy as she was getting ready to leave the classroom, and gently pulled her off to a side hallway at one end of the school, an area that saw little use aside from a few remote science classrooms. There would be students coming and going, but many fewer than the main hallways. And besides, the auburn-haired teenager was unmistakable in his appearance, in his arrogant assumption of ownership of whatever hallway or classroom he was in. If he wanted to talk to his girl in a given hallway, nobody was about to tell him he couldn't do it.

As it happened, Mark almost wished he was going to enjoy what he had to say to Amy today. He'd done it before- and never once had he even doubted that it would succeed. But this time he had reason to be concerned. Thanks to the surprising intelligence of Henry's latest girlfriend- who, personally, Mark thought to be a hot-but-dimwitted slut- Mark knew that Amy intended on telling him no. That she planned on denying him what he deserved. And most infuriating of all, Amy thought that she could be so arrogant as to refuse to satisfy her boyfriend's sexual needs. How was that fair to him?

Mark was a teenage athlete, someone who practically lived off physical activity and adrenaline. He _needed_ regular sex, and with the most attractive girls possible. How could Amy think she had the right to refuse him that?

As they walked to the secondary hallway and stood beside row of lockers, talking about the skiing trip and other upcoming plans for weekend outings- pretty much all of which depended on the steadily-growing wealth of the Evans family and the ability of its sons to spend it how they liked- Mark had a sudden, powerful urge to slap Amy across the face. To smack her so hard it would leave a red, hand-shaped imprint for the rest of the day.

_Who the hell do you think you are_? Mark wanted to shout, right into Amy's pretty, pale-skinned face. But he didn't. He restrained himself, just barely. And then he readied himself to launch into his little talk for the morning… it was time to find out of what Lisa'd told Henry was true. Time to figure this out for himself.

"Babe," Mark said after some light making out, "You know I love you. Right?"

She smiled. "Sure. Of course."

"Well," Mark said carefully, "I just wanted to tell you that I really care about you. How much I love you. And I really like spending time with you."

A nervous look began to show on Amy's face then, and she bit on her lower lip. Anger surged back into Mark as he began to suspect Henry's information had indeed been right, just as he'd feared, but he didn't let it show. Instead, Mark leaned forward- not much of an effort since they were standing barely inches apart- and kissed Amy on the forehead. "Amy," he said gently, "You can tell me. Whatever it is, you can say it. It's okay."

Amy paused, then quietly said, "I… I'm not- I can't-"

Mark kissed her again, this time on the lips. "It's fine," he assured her.

"I'm saving myself for marriage," Amy blurted, then blushed crimson and stared at her shoes. She loved Mark, adored his jaw-dropping physique and his passion. But… she knew what a desired boy he was, how many girls he'd slept with since freshman year. She didn't really blame Mark- he couldn't help it. He was young, he was attractive, and even without having experienced it herself, Amy knew that sex felt incredibly good. After all, sl- _other girls_ like Lisa Doyle wouldn't be doing it so much if it didn't. And as much as she hated having to tell Mark this, Amy knew she had to. She'd known this was coming, this conversation. It would have come up sooner or later.

But like the good, polite boy she knew him to be, Mark had taken Amy aside and told her about his desire for her- a high compliment given how choosy he could afford to be. And perhaps, in his own way, Mark had been giving Amy a heads-up, a chance to tell him if there was anything about them having a sexual relationship that wasn't okay. Amy was being given a chance to tell Mark what she was telling him now, and she loved Mark for it. And though she wouldn't- couldn't- admit it, sometimes she wished she could say yes. She'd heard enough breathless, gushing tales from other girlfriends of Mark's, girls who'd had one-night-stands with him at parties, to know he was truly amazing in anything sexual. Just looking at him naked was absolutely incredible, and past that… Lisa's word for Henry's performance had been "mind-shattering". That applied to Mark, too, it seemed.

No… Amy couldn't deny she was tempted. But there was no shame in that- none, so long as she was a good, upright Philips girl and resisted that temptation, just as her parents and her chaplain had taught her to do. It wasn't right to give in to base, physical lusts and desires and do the much-vaunted It before marriage, as so many teenagers liked to. Amy knew Henry and Mark had eagerly conquered just as many girls as they had time for ever since their big breakthrough into popularity in the 9th grade, and was actually a little sorry about it.

Sorry that these otherwise handsome, wonderful boys weren't more principled, and sorry that the girls they'd been with weren't as well. Too many teenagers at Chamberlain were paying no attention to the importance of waiting until marriage, of not giving in to temptation the minute it crossed one's mind. It was sad to see, in a way. But Amy didn't blame Mark- and right now, she was eyeing him nervously, worried about what his reaction to the news would be. The tall, muscular, auburn-haired boy was known to be as quick to anger as he was to kindness and passion, and the intensity of his emotions was equally strong both ways. Amy knew she'd had to be honest with Mark- but she was fearful of what his reaction would be.

Mark, for his part, didn't say anything for a few moments. He looked to be thinking about something, considering what he should say. Finally, Mark just put his arms around Amy, gently as he always did. He kissed her on the forehead, then on the nose, then on the lips. "It's all right, babe," Mark said softly. "I'm proud of you."

Amy hugged Mark tightly, and before she headed off to her next class she kissed Mark back, telling him that she loved him. Her relief- her gratitude that Mark hadn't become angry at what she'd said- went beyond words. It had been her biggest fear ever since she'd started dating Mark, and now that fear was past. It meant the world to her to know that.

**XX**

Mark didn't know if there was a word for how pissed he was right now, but "furious" at least came close. It had been true, what Lisa had told Henry, who had then gone on to tell him. It was fucking true. Amy really was one of those "waiting till marriage" types, the only one on the cheerleading squad that Mark had ever met or heard of. Why couldn't she be like the rest of them; stunningly hot and all but falling over herself to sleep with a handsome, popular guy like Mark? It would have been so much simpler that way.

But _no_. Amy had _other_ ideas, apparently, and it made Mark even angrier that he'd had to pretend as if that was okay with him- which, to be sure, it absolutely wasn't. The only relief Mark had- the only thing that had kept him from backhanding Amy so hard she found out what pain really was- happened to be that beautiful blonde slut Lisa Doyle. She'd been aching for Henry's attention, longing for his affection for years. And now that she finally had it, Lisa was clearly fast getting to the point where she'd do anything- anything- to make sure she kept him all to herself.

For once, Mark was grateful. Not only towards Henry- whose assistance, friendship and advice he was always grateful for- but towards Lisa. Had she not chosen to tell Henry what she'd found out, Mark would have known nothing of Amy's idiotic choice in advance. Had Mark not known about Amy's monumental stupidity in advance, nothing- nothing in the world- would have stopped him from smashing Amy's stupid head against the wall. Like a fucking _egg_.

Mark was angry enough right now, he halfway wished he had.

As it happened, that opportunity might not have been entirely missed. As Mark began to shake off his fury at Amy- who had already headed off to class- he noticed the metallic clang of a locker closing, and the sound of footsteps approaching behind him. Glancing down the hallway, Mark saw it was actually quite deserted- since today was Monday, these science classrooms, lab areas for the Science Department, were not in use. The only people here right now were Mark… and some pitiful little freshman, overburdened with a backpack that looked stuffed with every damn book he needed any damn day of the week. He'd apparently made his entrance into this hallway- his assigned locker was down here- while Mark had been distracted talking to Amy.

Mark knew the type. He'd seen them before, when he even deigned to notice they existed. All freshman boys seemed to look like this, now that he was a senior- skinny, with arms like twigs and biceps not much bigger. Necks like pencils and nothing but an overactive sex-drive to make up for their small, unimpressive manhood. And this one was a particularly laughable example; he had frayed jeans, a nondescript t-shirt of some shade of dark brown, and a bowl-cut that left his brown-black hair almost hanging over his eyes.

But this kid wasn't entirely stupid- he had to know who Mark was, and had obviously made a conscious effort to slip by unnoticed the first time.

_Not the second time_, Mark thought, and couldn't quite keep an unpleasant smile from crossing his lips.

The freshman wilted visibly when he saw that, but hefted his overweight backpack on his bony, thin shoulders and clutched the straps with both hands, resolutely trying to just go about his business unnoticed. Mark knew this type the second he saw them- the ordinary, average kids of no great athletic or social ability, the ones who wanted nothing more than to be left alone. It was one of Mark, Henry, and many of the other popular guy's most favoured sports to refuse these loser kids that wish.

Mark turned back to facing the other way, though, and reached into his pocket to make sure his pack of Camels was still there. He was going to light up the whole fucking pack when school was over. The freshman, either hoping Mark had chosen to ignore him or seeing no other way to go but forward, continued down the hallway.

As he passed by, Mark grabbed him.

It was a blindingly-fast move, one that would have surprised anyone but perhaps John or Anthony, who were pretty damn fast themselves, or Henry, who was faster than anyone save his brother. Mark simply reached out with one arm, with one set of hard, well-toned muscle and a bicep that was about as thick as the pitiful little fuck's head, and wrapped that arm around the kid's neck.

"Awk!" he gasped, or something similar, but Mark just flexed his bicep and raised his arm a little, just enough that the freshman had to stand on the tips of his toes to keep his feet on the floor.

"Ah, ah," the freshman breathed, gasping like a fish and struggling to keep air coming in and out of his windpipe- which he had to know Mark's powerful bicep was directly over. Maybe he didn't. To make sure, Mark tensed his right arm's muscle some more, enough that the bicep became like hard rock, the mountainous bulge effortlessly cutting off the small boy's airway. The low, frightened sounds the boy made as he began to panic and strangle delighted Mark… and tempted him not to stop.

Lowering his head to speak softly in the freshman's ear, Mark said, "You realise I'm not even flexing all the way, right?"

"Ek!" the freshman said, or something like it. His hands pawed uselessly at Mark's arm, trying to clear space for him to breathe. Mark just laughed. "If I _did_ flex my arm the whole way, I'd probably kill you. Snap your damn neck." He paused, letting that sink in. "You wanna find out?"

The freshman made a low, sobbing noise then, and Mark noticed a distinct and pungent smell. Glancing down, he saw what he expected; a sudden darkening about the groin of the freshman's jeans. Little tears were running down his face; he'd gotten so scared he'd literally pissed himself.

Laughing, Mark threw the kid aside and began heading off to class. The freshman crashed into the lockers they'd been standing near and collapsed to the floor. As Mark headed through a set of double doors and headed left to reenter one of the main hallways, he could hear the freshman, clutching his throat and blinking away tears of pain and humiliation, gasping for air like a fish.

**XX**

Scott Shepherd was late to class. He had an excuse for once- he'd had to drive his dad to work since his car ended up in the shop this morning- but it still was bullshit. He was late, and since he didn't have a buddy-buddy relationship with the principal like the goddamn Evans brothers did, he was gonna get shit for it. It was like this every time.

But as he got ready to head up to the main office and take the heat, Scott remembered he had to get something out of his locker. Namely, his textbook for 2nd Hour, which was kind of important. It was number 203, on a secondary hallway that housed a few science classrooms. On a day like today, the hallway was pretty much deserted since the lab rooms were only used on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Scott knew that hallways like this one were often used for quick, pre-arranged drug deals, having bought some pot here himself from time to time.

Rounding the corner as he passed through the double doors, Scott opened another set and saw a kid lying on the floor, maybe fifteen feet down the hallway. He had a large, likely-overweight backpack on, and his head was facing down to the floor. Between gasping for air- Scott could see the kid was clutching his throat gingerly, as if in pain- the boy was also crying, his chest hitching as he struggled to fight back tears.

"Hey!" Scott said, racing forward into the hallway, his own woes of the morning forgotten. "Hey, man! What the hell-"

The freshman jerked his head up, then, and gave Scott a look of such terror and loathing that he actually stopped where he was. Forcing himself to hurry forward anyway, Scott was dismayed to see the kid cringing in fear, curling up and struggling to stand. He made it, but the second he took a step to begin running away from Scott- which was clearly what he wanted to do- the freshman just collapsed again, grunting in pain and crying again.

Scott knelt beside him, and as he did so, noticed the unmistakable smell of urine. This kid had been choked, scared, and clearly enough of both that he had pissed his pants.

As the older boy tried to help the freshman up, though, the kid shoved him away. "Leave me _alone_!" he yelled, his voice ragged and strained.

"Hey, man," Scott said in surprise, "I'm trying to _help_! What the hell _happened_ to you?"

"Nothing!" the freshman shot back, and right there and then Scott knew who it was. It had been Mark Evans, or his brother Henry, or somebody else who worshipped the ground they walked on. There was no small number of athletic, stronger-than-average boys at Chamberlain High who met that description now, so it was hard to say who exactly. But it was one of the Evans brothers who had done this. Somehow… Scott just knew. No one else could so completely scare a kid that he'd never rat on them, for one thing. This kid knew the code, and as much as he clearly hated being on the shit end of the stick, he knew better than to fight against it. And Scott became aware of something else, too- this freshman didn't just fear and hate Scott because he was terrified of the Evans brothers.

He thought Scott was… one of their crowd. He thought Scott was one of _them_. It didn't matter that Scott was a nice guy, a polite and disciplined athlete- this kid didn't care. He couldn't tell the difference.

The idea made Scott want to puke, and he stood and gripped the boy's shoulders, gently but firmly blocking his way as he tried to leave.

"I'm not- I didn't do this to you," Scott said, hoping the kid would listen. "If you'll just tell me who did, I can help-"

"No, no!" the boy said, shaking his head as his dark brown eyes rolled in fear. Realising he was captured again, the kid started to cry more, and had his bladder not already let go he probably would have done that too. But instead, he cringed away from Scott as the older boy tried to talk to him, and finally reached into his pocket, nearly dropping his cheap wallet as he fumbled to get it open.

"Here!" the freshman said, shoving a small set of bills at a very surprised Scott, who took one hand of the kid's shoulders to catch it.

"Hey, man," Scott said, "I don't want-"

"I don't _have_ any more!" the freshman cried, terrified and angry. "I-I don't even _know_- I can't- just leave me alone!"

"I'm trying to help-," Scott said again, but the kid just shoved at him with surprising strength, screaming now. "_Leave me alone_!"

He turned and bolted down the hallway, turning right and running straight out of the school. Scott began to follow, seeing him taking off across the parking lot, but finally gave it up. The was no point in even trying to bother.

"Hello?" an older man's voice said, and instantly Scott realised he'd suddenly let himself be found in the completely wrong hallway. "What's all the noise?"

Mr. Wallace, the senior math teacher, walked through the double doors and saw Scott standing there, the freshman's $7 in lunch money held in one hand.

"Mr. Wallace, listen-" Scott began, but the teacher just held up a hand. He didn't want to hear any stories either.

"Come with me to the office, Mr. Shepherd," Mr. Wallace said firmly. "I didn't see anything, so I doubt I can prove much. But what I heard wasn't amusing." He gave Scott a hard look. "But _you_, Mr. Shepard? I expected better of you."

Following Mr. Wallace up the office, just one more piece of grief added to an already bad Monday now, Scott seethed with fury, cursing the Evans brothers with every breath. Cursing their arrogance, cursing their cruelty, and cursing the fact that, through their extensive influence and reputation around the school, they'd seen to it that even when a guy like Scott Shepherd tried helping one of their victims, he could still end up doing the wrong thing.


	19. Chapter 19- Tryouts

**Chapter XIX- Tryouts**

* * *

Lunch that day was a nice break from the usual boring routine of classes; being the de facto kings of the school, Henry and Mark enjoyed pretty much any time of the day. They didn't even mind classes overall, even enjoyed some- but overall, the things they got to do outside of class were a lot more enjoyable.

Anthony didn't say a word about getting that dog for Henry over the weekend, and the blond teen thought that a smart decision indeed. John had gotten his hair nicely dyed again, turning it quite a bright shade of artificial blond, and was overall pleased about the outcome of the party on Friday. Likewise for Jason Morgan, who took to talking with John about getting some pot after school.

"Why do you even do that shit, man?" Mark asked with a grimace; neither he nor Henry had ever touched a single one of the drugs now popular with Chamberlain students. They paid no attention to the buying and selling of it by those who did, but aside from cigarettes had no involvement themselves. Like alcohol, drugs could impair mental control, one's ability to monitor what was going on. And what you were saying. Mark and his brother never wanted to compromise that, not even a little.

"It's fun, dude," John said, smiling a little. "Takes you places."

"Yeah," Jason said. "That's for fuckin' sure."

"I think I might try to get some coke sometime," Anthony said reflectively. "See if that shit's as powerful as I hear."

"Don't O.D. and kill yourself," Mark said dryly. "The Varsity football team can't be losing anybody just yet. Unlike the freshman, the lives of seniors actually count somewhat."

"Aren't football tryouts today?" Lisa asked, sitting beside Henry. She looked thrilled just to be there, and she was. Nervously, she nibbled at a ham-and-cheese sandwich she'd bought from the school kitchens. Was she gonna have to barf it back up later? Lisa wasn't sure. But she was sure that keeping her figure right where it was mattered now, more than ever- Henry didn't like fat girls much.

"Come on, Liz," Henry said gently, looking at her. "Eat." He kissed her on the cheek, and Lisa blushed.

Suddenly, Mark looked up from his tray; the new kid in town had just entered the cafeteria, coming out from the hallway that lead to the gym classrooms. "Hey," Mark called, "Hey, Chris! Come on over here, man!"

The redhead looked over to his right to see who was calling his name, and became even more visibly startled when he saw who it was. Mark nodded and motioned for him to come over, and Chris did, suddenly trying not to smile. Henry wanted to laugh; this kid was hilarious. He clearly thought it an honour that Mark Evans was inviting him over like this. To be fair, though, it was. And Henry actually liked this new kid somewhat- he seemed nervous underneath all his showiness and bravado, but he always pushed forward and tried to show off. He didn't let fear or cowardice control him- which was better than most of the idiots at this school could say.

"Uh, hey," Chris said as he approached, his green eyes scanning the table. "What's up?"

"Have a seat," Mark said simply. "Take that bookbag off, stay a while."

"Thanks!" Chris said, but started looking uncertain as to where an open seat was.

Gesturing impatiently at Jason Morgan, who was sitting across the table from him at the moment, Mark said, "Move over. Let him sit down, asshole!"

Jason started to make a face, started to look like he wanted to object very strongly indeed, but anger flashed in Mark's eyes and he saw it. Motioning to Paul Hendricks beside him, he moved over into the now-vacant seat and gave Chris a scathing look. Here he was, the goddamn Varsity football team quarterback, getting booted out of his usual seat in favour of some faggot new kid!

And he probably _was_, too. Chris looked like one of those dudes who had some secret, semihomosexual adoration of the Evans brothers. More guys did than would ever admit it, but if Chris turned out to be the kind who liked to kiss boys… Jason was gonna make sure everybody found out about it.

For now, though, that wasn't happening. Chris Marshal sat down at the Evans brothers' table, smiling in relief as he began to feel welcome. He shook hands with everybody again, said what's up and all that- even hinted that he had a spare pack if anyone wanted a smoke. Both Henry and Mark were pleased; this guy was proving himself so far, all right. Maybe he really was a cut above the rest of the idiot losers filling up this damn school.

"So, Chris," Mark said, in a buddy-to-buddy tone Chris was stunned to hear him use, "Did you get some on Friday? How'd you like the party?"

Sitting to Mark's right, Amy suddenly found the carrots on her tray very interesting. She rather wished Mark wouldn't talk about that party; she still remembered her boyfriend's fury at her parents' refusal to let her attend. She loved Mark, but it scared her to death to see- or hear- him get angry. She didn't want to have that happen, ever again.

"Well," Chris said slowly, with a look of false uncertainty, "I don't know. How'd you like it, man?"

Jason Morgan threw Chris another look, and Paul Hendricks stared; he'd never heard some new kid talk to Mark like that. Henry, on the other hand, threw his head back and laughed; so did Mark. Chris smiled, pleased and relieved that the move had worked. Talking like that to one of the Evans brothers was a risk, but they seemed to like boldness when it came from the right people.

John LaFleur was staring very hard at a piece of broccoli he'd picked up, and Jason Morgan broke the brief silence by asking, "Dude- are you high?"

"As a kite," John answered calmly. "I smoked some pot before school."

Jason looked at the artificial-blond doubtfully. "Some?"

"Well, it might've been some. Maybe more. I don't know." John shrugged, and clearly didn't really care about the issue either way. What did it matter to him? He was a goddamn prince around here. Coming to school with pot still pumping through his system was _nothing_.

Henry glared briefly, but Mark just waved it off. So long as he was nice and sober by football practice, there'd be no problem. If he _wasn't_, on the other hand… But for now, it didn't matter. And watching from his seat across from Mark, Chris observed this and took note. The Evans brothers obviously disapproved of friends in their circle coming to school while high (or drunk, presumably) but John was clearly someone who could get away with it. He seemed like a nice guy, pretty low-key compared to the Evans brothers. But he clearly was someone they liked. Chris wanted to be like John LaFleur. His seemed like the perfect position to be in, second to that of the Evans brothers themselves.

Turning back to Chris- who once again felt very pleased at being shown such attention- Mark said, "So. Anyway. How about the party Friday? I know John got some."

"Hell yeah, I did," John said, slowly breaking the broccoli into smaller pieces.

"And I know Jason did," Mark said.

"Always," Jason declared.

Mark didn't ask about Henry, since Lisa was present, and made a point of not speaking about himself. There was no need for Amy to know about that Thing he'd done with Sarah Schreuder, now was there?

"So how about you?" Mark asked again. "How'd you do Friday night?"

"I'll tell you what happened," Chris said, smirking a little as if sharing a secret. "I was on the dance floor for a while- I even did some Grinding on a hot chick or two. But, I got bored with that and got me a bottle of wine from the bar. Got drunk and passed out- I woke up at 8AM and drove home." Chris paused, appearing confused. "Not really sure how…"

Jason looked like he wanted to call bullshit, but Mark just looked at Chris intently. "You finish that wine bottle?"

Looking Mark right in the eye, Chris nodded. "The whole goddamn thing."

Mark laughed, and Henry chuckled. John did too, but he wasn't really paying attention. Chris couldn't help but smile; he was doing great. And this was only his second full week here! It was thrilling to think of what he could do in the coming months if this was any indication.

Pulling out a five dollar bill from his wallet, Mark handed it to Chris. He'd taken it from a sophomore baseball player who was more than happy not to get "paid a visit" this week, but Chris didn't need to know that. And in time, with a little "moral coaching" from Mark and his brother Henry, Chris would learn not to care.

"Go get yourself a pizza, Chris," Mark said. "You must be hungry."

Chris grinned, thanked Mark, and got up and headed over towards the kitchens. He struggled not to grin any more as he walked away, but it was almost too much. Mark Evans had used his first name!

I think I'm gonna like this school, Chris thought, getting in the short line to buy himself a slice of pizza and a drink with the money Mark had given him. I think I'm gonna like it here just fine."

"So we do have football tryouts today," John said as he watched Chris go. That redhead kind of had a nice ass- not that John was gonna have a go… but it was an observation. Just a fact.

"Yeah," Henry said. "We do. Last phase of it is today, actually. Gotta cut out those miserable pukes who think they can make the Varsity team."

"And we got the JV team to deal with Tuesday, right?" Jason asked, to which Henry nodded. "Mark's gonna make those little faggots run till they puke."

"Don't I always?" Mark asked, feigning surprise, and even Jason laughed.

"Henry," Lisa said quietly, "What about me- I mean, after school?"

The blond giant sighed; this time he didn't even need to fake it. He'd really been looking forward to fucking Lisa some more this afternoon… But it just wasn't possible. The final tryouts for the Varsity football team were gonna take hours, and there was no way he could find time to screw Lisa with tryouts on his schedule.

"I can't, Liz," Henry said regretfully. "Tryouts are gonna keep me busy all afternoon. I'll make it up to you tomorrow, okay?"

Suddenly, Lisa perked up as she got an idea. "Could I come and watch the practice?"

"It'll be boring, babe," Henry said gently. "A lot of guy stuff. You'd be better off just heading home after 7th Hour."

But Lisa shook her head, suddenly very sure that she wanted to be there. "No," she said, "I want to!" Looking at Henry with a very warm, tender look on her face, the blonde beauty added softly, "I could never get bored watching you. _Never_."

Henry didn't say anything at first; he turned to his left and kissed Lisa on the lips. When they separated, he smiled and added, "All right. I'll see you at practice." Lisa smiled back, and in that moment completely forgot about puking up her lunch that day. She was pretty enough for Henry, and if anything he seemed to wish she wouldn't worry so much about her weight. Well… she'd still have to be careful. She had to stay nice and slim, because Lisa knew how much Henry adored her looks. But if Henry loved her, nothing else mattered. Nothing at all.

**XX**

Coach James Cressner, called "Big Jim" by his friends on the Virginia Tech football team and his fellow coaches of the present day, was never quite sure what to think of his star football players, the Evans brothers. Henry and Mark were stunning, immensely talented specimens of the teenage athlete. They were strong, swift, and charismatic; when they spoke, the other boys on the team listened. Neither of the brothers ever got in trouble with the law or school authorities; never once did Cressner need to bail them out for getting caught with marijuana in their backpack or getting drunk and then trying to drive home. They had some of the best grades in the senior class, too, meaning that Cressner had never needed to give them a talking-to about keeping their grades up.

In fact, not only did Henry and Mark Evans never get in trouble for any of those things, they were swift and harsh to punish anyone who did. Any boy who came to practice late stayed late, and any boy who was foolish enough to show up to practice high paid for that as well. For his part, Cressner looked the other way as the Evans brothers instituted their own discipline policies and a harsh regimen of hazing for the new boys. Henry and Mark were harsh on the boys, yes, but only when they needed to be. The lessons they taught the team had contributed to their many wins over the years, and Cressner knew better than to interfere with a system that worked.

No, it wasn't that. It wasn't the hazing, and it wasn't the example Henry and Mark set as leaders on the team. The problem that James Cressner did have was how arrogant and demanding they were, and that was saying something, given the kind of teenage boys Cressner was used to being in charge of. High school football players expected to be exalted as the pride of the school, glorified whether they won or lost, and permitted to generally rule the roost without opposition. That they had a strong sense of entitlement was an understatement. But even for them, Henry and Mark Evans were overbearing. Not long after making the JV team, they basically took it over. As freshmen and sophomores they became the Junior Varsity team's de facto leaders, and quickly proved they were willing to beat bloody anyone who objected.

Now, as seniors, they commanded not only the Varsity football team, but the entire football team at Chamberlain High. They wrote the practices, called the plays at games, and for all it mattered were the real coaches of the team. They needed Cressner as a figurehead, but wanted him as nothing more. Ever since the big-shot at Chamberlain, Principal Eric Decauter, had decided the dispute in the Evans brothers' favour years ago, they'd been the ones in charge, and there was nothing Cressner could do about it.

Some people, Cressner knew, would say he had little reason to complain. So what if these boys wanted to be in charge? They had a winning team going in not only football but hockey as well, had handed their coaches victory after victory, and were the reason Chamberlain High's athletes were being looked at closely these days by college recruiters, from as far west as California and as far south as Florida's Flagler College and South Carolina's The Citadel. Their hazing policies might have been harsh (in gross violation of the school's rules on that, in fact) and their arrogance in reducing Cressner to a mere figurehead was certainly distasteful… but they got results. And as much as he didn't like it, James Cressner knew the best thing to do- the only thing he could do- was to just leave it alone.

So that early October Monday afternoon, when the senior members and junior hopeful-members of the Varsity football team arrived on the field for practice, Cressner knew what he was supposed to do. On his clipboard, he had a list of exercises and plays for the boys to do, lead by the seniors and followed by the juniors. It was all written out beforehand by one or both of the Evans brothers, typed, printed, and delivered anonymously to his office before 3rd Hour every Friday. Each delivery would have a week's worth of practice and/or game plans, and as always, Henry and Mark were ever so gracious in thanking Coach Cressner for his help, and congratulating him on the good practices and plays he wrote up.

_Oh, that's got to be the worst of it_, Cressner thought, grumbling to himself as he watched the boys practicing tackles on the field. _They make me a figurehead on their team, and then act like I'm still in charge. The goddamn _nerve.

Presently, one lanky boy had rebounded when attempting to charge into the dummy, the result being that the dummy looked like it was winning. In an instant John LaFleur (#13) was laughing like it was the funniest thing he'd seen in weeks, and Jason Morgan (#11) was standing over the junior, screaming at him that he'd better man up or get out.

Henry and Mark were just watching, close by but aloof, above it all. And as the practice continued, the seniors all getting their turn to berate the lesser juniors for their weakness and incompetence, Cressner just stood off to the side, blowing his whistle now and then to signal starting and stopping points. Later, while the juniors were running themselves ragged with a very long series of wind-sprints, Cressner looked up from his clipboard to see Henry and Mark standing across the field from him, their arms crossed and a satisfied, smug look on their faces. The auburn-haired brother, Mark, caught Cressner's eye and smiled. Somehow, Cressner just knew what Mark Evans was saying: _We're in charge and you're not. Ha ha_.

James Cressner couldn't tell what was worse; that he was being silently mocked by one of his best-ever players, or that he was totally, completely unable to do a single thing about it.

**XX**

It was well past 4:30pm when the whistle finally blew, and the boys of the junior class trying out for the Varsity team staggered to a halt on the twenty-yard line. They'd been running sprints to and from various yard-lines on the field, culminating with a run that took them a whole one-hundred yards, literally the entire length of the field. Jason Morgan- whose name every junior on the field today had already learned to hate- had yelled for them to get their asses back to his end of the field, almost immediately after the one-hundred-yard run. They had to do it again.

With the seniors yelling at them and shouting various words of 'encouragement', the juniors who (hopefully) would soon be on the Varsity football team took off running, forcing themselves to ignore the agony in their lungs, the pounding of their hearts, and the fact that their legs felt like they were on fire. Coach Cressner blew his whistle when they reached the 20-yard line, and the junior boys felt like they believed in God again.

"All right, you faggots," Jason Morgan shouted at them, "Get the fuck over here! Henry and Mark have got something to say to you."

Murmurs of "Thank God" and sighs of relief issued from the exhausted, dehydrated juniors, but the tall, lean boy with the silvery-blond hair- John LaFleur- just sniggered, which made the handful of juniors who noticed doubt that the practice was truly over. They all jogged over to meet the Evans brothers, though, who towered over all of the juniors and seniors, even without their football helmets.

Once the weary, sweaty juniors had assembled before them, Henry and his brother gave some bluntly honest remarks, noting the pussies and the men they'd seen so far. Both groups accepted the labels in silence; it was much better than trying to object.

Then Henry looked out at them and smiled. "Congratulations, guys. Practice is officially over."

More smiles and sighs of relief followed, but Henry held up a hand. "_Unofficially_ there's one more test for you guys. This one's pretty fuckin' important if any of you actually want to be on me and my brother's team. We need to find out if you guys can stand up to the fire. We need to know if you can take a hit. Anybody doesn't want to do this, the locker room's that way."

The field was quiet, the clear sky overhead letting the sun shine down on them. Under all their pads and gear, some of the boys were sweating very hard- all of them were, in fact- but not one moved. None of them said anything.

"Okay," Henry said with a slight, almost mocking smile on his lips, "I warned you."

Walking over to the sidelines and retrieving a second clipboard from Cressner- with a polite "Thanks, Coach" as always- Henry walked back to the group.

"Juniors, form two lines behind me," Henry barked. "I don't care how you do it, but get it done. Now!"

Suddenly springing into action, the juniors hurried to obey, scrambling across the field and awkwardly pushing and jostling for position as the two lines gradually formed.

"I'm getting bored!" Henry sang out, and John LaFleur laughed.

"You guys move like old people fuck!" Mark called, and Jason laughed too. The junior boys were well aware by now what comedic relief these tryouts were for the seniors- the only thing that kept many of them here was knowing that next year… it would be their turn to do the laughing. Some of the boys- the strong ones, the ones whose good social skills, handsome appearance and appropriately wealthy background made them the kind of material Henry and Mark were looking for- were already vowing that the hazing they would impose next year would match, even surpass what they'd endured this year.

And that, of course, was just what Henry and Mark wanted. Talking about it with each other- for they trusted no one else's word or judgment, save John or Anthony from time to time- Henry and Mark had agreed on the matter easily. By cruelly and harshly initiating each team that came in after them, they made sure the subsequent generations of seniors would perpetuate that harsh and stern discipline. By winning every damn game they played in, Henry and Mark together showed the athletes of Chamberlain High that winning was done by one group, and one only: the strong.

Finally, the lines were formed, and with some helpful yelling from Jason and John the ranks were straightened and the bitching about heat and water silenced.

"It's almost over, you pussies," John said calmly. "What you're doing today is nothing next to what we went through." And he wasn't lying, either; hazing had been present at Chamberlain High for as long as its athletics program existed, and in the football team it had a whole new meaning. The rewards were great, but the demands were equally high. But what John LaFleur was thinking about as he spoke those words to the juniors was not the hazing on the football team. He wasn't thinking of that at all.

What John was thinking about was that swift knee to the balls Henry had given John years ago, when John had been the first to step forward and offer to be Henry's friend. Then there was the full-contact kick he'd taken from Henry in karate class, the one that knocked him clear across the room and- had the walls not been padded- could have killed him. The tests they'd put him to had been harsh, worse than any hazing the football team suffered. But John knew he'd made the right choice. Being so close to Henry and Mark was like having "By Appointment of His Majesty the King" on your office door. And these days, John found he was really starting to believe in Henry and Mark's philosophy: that for better or for worse, the world would never, _ever_ be ruled by the weak. Greatness only came to those who not only possessed strength, but were willing to impose that strength on others. Someone had to step forward and get shit done, especially in a world as chaotic as this.

_We have to be hard on these boys_, John thought as Mark stood out on the field now, alone and ready. Henry called the first name, and the first boy was thrown a football and ordered out onto the field. His name was Atchley, and he barely came within arm's reach of Mark before the older boy lashed out with his fist, smashing him right in the chest. Atchley went down hard and stayed there, and Jason finally walked out and dragged him off the field.

"Atkinson!" Henry called, and a black-haired kid who now looked about as white as a ghost trotted obediently out onto the field. He took the same blow to the chest, and fell back hard as well. Atkinson struggled to his feet, though, and limped off to the side.

"Bailey!"

"Bradford!"

On the list went, filtering through the names of some twenty boys. John could tell that Mark was actually taking it easy on them; though he was clearly enjoying smashing each of these boys to the ground, he was also taking care not to actually break any bones. Though most of these juniors were weaklings, runts to be dismissed with only a moment's contempt, some were going to make the cut, and they would be needed.

When Andrew Cadiz had been punched in the chest and staggered a little before falling, Jason actually raised his hands and clapped. John wished he could get high again. Jason was kind of a dick, and it was a lot easier to ignore him if you were so high you couldn't tell if you were going upside down or sideways.

Making a mark on his list with a pencil- Henry had been giving the boys marks of 1-10 the whole time, John knew- the blond called out to his brother. "Hey, Mark!"

"That's my name!" the auburn-haired teen called cheerfully, waving to his brother as Andrew Cadiz walked dizzily off the field, fighting to look like it wasn't a big deal for him to do it.

"Your turn," Henry smiled, holding up the clipboard. Shrugging, Mark jogged over to meet his brother as the blond headed towards him, and with a brief slapping of palms they traded places. Mark now held the clipboard, and the remaining twenty boys were in Henry's hands.

"They're all yours," Mark said quietly to his brother, gesturing with a warm smile to where he'd been standing on the field. "Enjoy."

Henry just grinned; the only thing that was more fun than punishing the weak was- as with everything else- doing it together.

"Why else do we have hazing?" Henry whispered back, and jogged out onto the field.

"Hit me!" he barked as David Ford approached him. Confused, the dark-haired boy hesitated, but started to throw him the football. Taking a brief stride forward, Henry curled his right hand into a fist and sent the junior crashing to the ground. Taking a breath and grinning at the pale-faced boys assembled to "Take a hit", all visibly dreading the moment their name would be called but unwilling- or unable- to quit, Henry again thanked himself for the day he'd offered to be friends with his brother. He never could have had so much fun alone.


	20. Chapter 20- Tryouts II

**Chapter XX- Tryouts II**

* * *

Lisa Doyle sat up in the stands, a gray-white t-shirt with "Abercrombie & Fitch" on it and a pair of blue-white jeans complimenting her good looks for the day. She had been up here by herself for over an hour now, watching the Evans brothers and their friends steadily weed out the weak boys from the strong. It was amazing, truly, how skilled Henry and his brother were in finding out who really wanted to be on the team.

For her part, Lisa thought this was great entertainment. The only thing that was more fun was the games themselves, because once in a while Henry or Mark would cause an "accident" and some boy on the other team would get his leg broken, or a fracture in his knee. Lisa was careful not to admit it- not to anyone but Henry and his brother, anyway- but she actually got a thrill out of it. To see Henry, the strongest, sexiest boy she'd ever seen, so swiftly and so easily put other, lesser boys in their place was… breathtaking. She also watched Jason Morgan, remembering what fun she'd thought it was when he'd screwed her at that party junior year. That was before Henry- all of her romantic exploits were marked by that point now- when she had been ignored and unnoticed by that teenage titan, forced to make do with lesser boys. She hadn't known what good sex even _was,_ not back then. And she hadn't been lying when she'd told Henry about Jason. Henry really was bigger.

Just as she had suspected, the pretty blonde never once got bored while watching the practice. She just kept her eyes on Henry- never quite letting her eyes stray to Mark, who had a similarly tempting handsome face and stunningly sexy physique- and never lost interest for a second. Those navy blue-top and ivory-white-bottom football uniforms seemed to have an almost deliberately sexual look about them; it was as if they were meant to be nice and tight about the arms, groin and buttocks, the better for girls to admire the view.

Lisa knew _she_ certainly did.

Not the junior boys, who she barely even looked at, or even John- who was pretty cute. Just Henry, and no one else. Lisa thrilled to watch how he never once tired during the practice, never for even a moment looked like he needed a rest. The tryouts were in his and Mark's hands, and they ran the whole thing beautifully.

Then they halted, and Lisa wondered if it was over. Then the juniors started lining up, and Lisa remembered- this was the best part. The tryouts would conclude with one final test- could the boys take a hit?

Many of them couldn't. More than once Lisa saw a junior trot out onto the field and get hit by Mark, struggling to rise again after immediately collapsing. A few didn't get up and had to be dragged off the field; Lisa could see her boyfriend shaking his head in dismay at those ones. They were the runts. Thinking briefly of Henry, of whatever future they might have together, Lisa promised herself she would never, ever give birth to weak children. She would have no runts with Henry.

Of course, that time wasn't here yet. Lisa was in high school, and getting pregnant would do no favours to her looks. But maybe when college was over, when Henry needed a trophy wife to support him in whatever career he'd chosen… Lisa could think of no better husband than Henry.

_I'll give him no weak boys_, Lisa swore to herself. _I'm a strong girl. Not like that bitch Amy Philips_.

The thought reminded Lisa of what she'd told Henry, and how by now Henry must have surely told Mark. Something… interesting would be coming Amy's way. Perhaps soon, too. For her part, Lisa didn't really care. It would probably be pretty funny, though.

Lisa could still scarcely believe Amy was still a virgin. She hadn't been lying; somehow, Lisa was sure. But with those looks, and a boyfriend like she had right now? It was such a waste. Lisa remembered her first with a boy. She'd been nervous, a little scared- and to be fair, so had he. Peter Langford- who had since gotten shipped off to military school in South Carolina- had been one of those skinny, cute and excitable boys who would screw like a rabbit and then sleep like a baby. But it had opened up a whole new world for Lisa- shown her just what she'd been missing. And last Friday, when she'd done It with Henry? No words seemed to fit. It had been heaven.

And as for Amy? That business about "I'm not doing It until I'm married"? Lisa could only pity that girl. She was missing out.

The dishing out of blows briefly halted, and Lisa almost cheered when she saw Henry Evans- her Henry- coming out onto the field.

"He's gonna destroy them," Lisa whispered, grinning in anticipation. Oh, was this gonna be good.

And true to her expectations, Henry didn't even come close to disappointing. No matter which boy got called out onto the field, Henry cut him down all the same. None could stay on their feet when Henry's fist struck them- every last one crumpled like a rag-doll.

It was awesome, it was amazing, it was absolutely incredible- even Lisa could hardly believe any one boy could be so strong. Lesser boys approached Henry, and lesser boys fell. There was no alternative.

He's unstoppable, Lisa thought, so captivated she couldn't even whisper it to herself. He's so strong. He's just amazing.

Henry's sheer physical power, the ease with which he felled junior after junior in the next couple of minutes, thrilled Lisa in ways she hadn't thought possible. She knew firsthand what a muscle-bound juggernaut Henry was, how nothing- nothing- ever tired him out. But even so, this was amazing! Lisa had never been so turned-on in her life.

As the last boy collapsed to the ground at the impact of Henry's fist and the practice finally ended, Lisa waved to her boyfriend and got a thrill when he saw her and waved back. As the boys, seniors and juniors alike, headed back to the locker rooms to shower and change, Lisa hurried back inside the school another way. She was going to wait for her boyfriend, and be the first to greet him when he came out. Lisa wanted him so bad right now, and she knew it was gonna drive her crazy if he didn't have time today. This wasn't a matter of want, or any of that trivial stuff- this was something Lisa needed.

And besides, didn't Henry need her, too? After all that time spent on the football field, after having so much of his valuable time wasted by lesser boys, Henry had to be tired. Frustrated. In need of some relaxation. And Lisa knew she could give him that. Anything- anything at all- that she could do to help Henry. There wasn't a better boyfriend anywhere in the world.

**XX**

For a full ten minutes after the practice ended, the hopefuls stood at attention in the locker room. They were not allowed to move, not allowed to speak, and had to stay in full uniform while the seniors conferred in another room. Finally, the Evans brothers returned, and the announcements of who'd made the cut were made right then and there. The boys who made it grinned and slapped palms with each other, while the ones who'd failed slunk off to their lockers and the showers in shame and disgrace.

One of the latter group was Blake Kingswood, a lean, muscular boy who had been aspiring to rise to the top social and athletic ranks of Chamberlain High for years. He had been working out, running, doing everything he could to prepare for this day- and it had all been for nothing. He was sore as hell, his muscles screamed at him for his idiocy, and his spirit was crushed. He'd failed.

"So what the hell was I supposed to do? I mean, who do you gotta be to make this team? Superman?" Blake groaned, wrapping a towel around his waist as he waited to go to the showers. William Framm, stripping out of his football uniform beside him, just grunted a reply. He was equally down-hearted over his rejection today and not in a mood to talk.

Right now, the seniors were going first and the victorious juniors second, some of the latter even permitted to take the open showers as seniors gave them up. Blake was sure- somehow he knew- that Andrew Cadiz, that arrogant bastard, was in there with them, playing those goddamn games and secretly enjoying the ass-slapping like all the rest of them. Blake knew he'd have been doing it too, had he made it- but he hadn't. It was just goddamned impossible.

Gradually more of the happy, victorious juniors and their new senior buddies came out and made room for the loser juniors, the gap already forming between them. Blake showered and came out with Will Framm beside him, still griping. He'd be griping all day- there was just nothing, nothing at all, that would soothe the humiliation he'd known today. Run so hard he nearly puked, punched in the chest so hard he passed out, and then berated for it like his inability to stand up to a blond giant who punched like a freight train was his fault. _His_ fault.

"I'm telling you, man," Blake muttered as Will tried to gently massage his agonized legs beside him, "Those fuckers have _gotta_ be on steroids. Henry and Mark Evans? No _way_ they aren't."

Suddenly Blake noticed it was unusually quiet in the locker room; the laughing and bullshitting had stopped, and even most of the showers were off. What was…?

_Oh, shit_.

Blake suddenly turned to his right- he'd been standing up to get his regular clothes back out of his locker- and saw both Henry and Mark Evans standing there. They each had a pair of black boxers on, and nothing else. Every inch of the two brothers was muscle- every bit. The paving-slab chest muscles, the huge, tree-trunk biceps, the eight-pack abs, the boulder-like shoulders… Blake was no nerd, but right away he felt like a pushover.

And the mocking smiles on their faces- they'd heard what he said. Blake was sure.

Cold fear ran through Blake like ice, but for the moment neither of them talked to him. They instead struck up conversation with each other, doing so with a cheerfulness that somehow scared Blake even more.

"Mark," Henry said with a smile, "Am I on steroids? Are you?"

"I don't know, Henry," Mark said, also with a smile. "But there's side effects, I'm sure."

"Oh, yes," Henry nodded. "Definitely."

With a mocking smile- and looking directly at Blake, whose sense of dread was only added to by knowing he had an audience, growing every second- Mark asked, "We'd have bad acne if we used steroids, I think. _Really_ bad. Do we have bad acne, Henry?"

Gesturing at himself, feigning surprise, Henry asked, "Who, me? I've never had a pimple in my life!"

"Neither have I," Mark said, staring at Blake again.

It was true, plain as day for every guy in the locker room to see. Somehow blessed with all of the benefits and none of the downsides of being a teenage guy, neither Henry or Mark had ever suffered from blisters, zits, acne or complexion problems of any sort. They looked flawless, and knew it.

"Hey, Mark," Henry said, as something new seemed to occur to him. "How about genital shrinkage? I've heard about that happening with steroid users, too."

And with a brief nod to each other, both brothers reached down and dropped their boxers to the floor. A flurry of gasps went up; some guys looked away, some blushed when they couldn't seem to. A couple "Woah!"'s went up as well. The why of it was simple, and very obvious.

Those were the biggest cocks any boy present had ever seen. By far.

Blake's face flushed, and his sense of shame only worsened. Was there _nothing_ the Evans brothers didn't have? It wasn't fair!

Pulling their underwear back up after a few moments, Henry and Mark continued the conversation as if nothing unusual had happened.

"I've heard about 'roid rages'," Mark said. "Anybody who pisses off a guy on steroids might just get beaten to death for it."

"You know, I've heard about that, too," Henry said, gazing at Blake, who stood silent and helpless, wishing he could hide the sweat running down his face. It was hot in here, he was tired… and oh, _God _was he scared.

But the brothers just smiled; Mark just gave a slight shrug, and so did Henry. Distantly, as if through a tunnel, Blake saw them smiling and turning away, heard them both saying that neither of them felt angry.

_WHAM_!

Blake heard the sound of a rock-hard fist banging into the locker just behind his head before he even realised what had happened. Then he saw Henry Evans standing there right in front of him, smiling calmly as he pulled his fist back from where it had struck, a quarter-inch from Blake's head.

Blake felt something warming his towel, something warm running down his leg. He'd needed to go during practice, but Jason Morgan had told him to go fuck himself. Now…

In the stunned, total silence of the locker room, Henry just shrugged. "Two out of three's not bad, man," he said, and the room exploded into laughter.

"Look!" a boy called, "He's pissed on his fuckin' _towel_!"

The laughter redoubled, louder and harder than before, and Andrew Cadiz had to lean on his own locker to stand. He was naked, too, having just come back from the showers, and threw Blake a wink as the defeated boy glanced his way. Blake flushed crimson and turned back to his locker, hoping to just get the damned thing open and get out of here.

It was stuck. Henry's fist had bent the metal, jamming it shut.

As he struggled with the jammed locker door, the stink of urine finally reaching his nose, Blake hardly even blamed Will for slipping away and changing somewhere else. The Evans brothers had gone on their way- after all, Blake was a minnow to them, socially and physically- and the laughter of his fellow players was still here. Blake had a feeling that he'd be reliving this moment again, and again, and again for at least the entire remainder of the year… and maybe even beyond that. And he also had a hunch this was the last time the Evans brothers would give him such direct attention- there was no shortage of eager followers, from the freshman to other seniors, ready and even willing to take up the slack.

Humiliated and mocked every step of the way, Blake finally wrenched the dented locker door open, changed just as quick as he could, and got out of there in a hurry, the laughter and jeers of his classmates still ringing in his ears.

**XX**

It was about twenty minutes before Henry and Mark came out of the locker room. Permitting the newly-chosen Varsity football team members to take their time with showering and changing, offering a cigarette to any that wanted one, Henry and his brother left them and the rejects in the locker room together, knowing the inflated egos of one half versus the crushed egos of the other would make for a very fun mix.

The reason for their magnanimity was not out of any real sense of generosity; the brothers hardly gave a damn about any of these juniors. But if showing a little favour, handing them a cigarette and a slap on the back, helped win their loyalty and adoration- why not? The more they did things like that, the more even the "moral" boys on the team would look past the hazing and bullying that Henry and Mark inspired, inflicted and encouraged. And the more these boys looked up to the Evans brothers and wanted to be like them, the longer their legacy here would last. They'd be legends at this school for years.

As they emerged from the locker room and into the hallway, Henry heard a girl's voice calling his name and turned to see Lisa running towards him. Opening his arms to meet her, Henry lifted her off the floor easily. Throwing her arms around Henry and kissing him on the lips, Lisa looked at her boyfriend, simply enthralled with his performance today.

"You kicked their asses!" Lisa exclaimed, so thrilled she almost forgot to breathe.

"Come on," Henry said gently, looking fondly down at her. "Did you expect anything less?"

"No," Lisa gushed, then suddenly corrected herself. "I mean, yes! I mean-"

Henry interrupted her with another kiss. "Liz," he said softly, "Take a breath. Calm down."

The blonde, slender girl sighed, trying to slow down a moment, but right away found she couldn't do it. "They were like _kids_ next to you! _All_ of them! You and Mark made them look like little _kids_, Henry!" Lisa exclaimed, and right away she knew Henry was pleased. Mark, standing close by with his arms crossed, smiled in just the same way. They liked hearing that.

Two boys emerging from the locker room- Zane Strader and Andrew Cadiz, both newly-made members of the Varsity football team, which was about as good as saying they were new "made men" in a crime family- didn't appreciate the comment as much. Already humbled by Henry and Mark's knocking them down like bowling pins in the final test, and the… size… of them as seen in the locker room, both Strader and Cadiz winced at Lisa's comment. Both of them passed by without a word, though, knowing better than to dispute anything said by Henry Evans' girlfriend.

It was also true, though. That helped keep them silent too.

Lisa could scarcely keep herself calm; after watching Henry at practice today, being so close to him now… she'd never been this turned on in her life. Well, not since last Friday… and it had been too long since then.

"I _need_ you, Henry," Lisa whispered in his ear. "Please. Can't you come over this evening?"

Henry looked at her, a genuinely regretful look on his face. "Your folks are home today, I'm guessing. And I know mine are, too."

The sexual thrill Lisa was already getting died suddenly, and she looked up at him with sadness on her face. "_Please_, Henry," she pleaded, "Can't we just use my car?" And they could, too- Lisa knew that if her wonderful, incredible boyfriend ever lowered his lofty standards just half a notch, the 1995 GMC Suburban she drove had more than enough room in the back seat. Way more than enough.

But Henry just kissed her, and gently and kindly as always began to talk her down. That was what ordinary teenagers did, he said. Just fuck in the back seat of some car. Lisa wanted to say she didn't care, but Henry just went on, "You're beautiful, Lisa. I didn't even know how beautiful until Friday night. And I know that's what you deserve; a proper bed, and a good one. I'm not gonna treat a queen like some slut. I'm gonna give my girl the best, because that's what she deserves."

Lisa almost winced when she heard Henry say the word "slut"- secretly, deep down, Lisa was afraid she was one. To some people, it didn't matter that Lisa had always been choosy, always played hard-to-get and only let a few handsome, popular boys go all the way with her. All that mattered to them was that Lisa had done It before she got married, before she even turned eighteen, and with more than two boys before Henry. She was highly attractive and enjoyed sleeping with boys- therefore, she was a slut. Lisa knew that was a lie- knew she was better than that- but sometimes, if she was feeling down… it was hard to tell who was right.

But Henry swept that away. As always, he made Lisa forget about all the horrible things people were surely saying behind her back. He made her feel pure, made her feel beautiful- and Lisa could even wait for him, when Henry explained things the way he did.

"I'll let you know just as soon as my folks are gonna be out for an evening," Lisa said solemnly. "I promise."

"And if my parents are out tomorrow, I'll call you," Henry assured her, hugging her close. Releasing her after a few moments, Henry gave his girlfriend another kiss on the lips and smiled at her. "I'll see you tomorrow, babe," Henry said gently. "Go home and get some rest. Okay?"

"Sure," Lisa said, making herself smile in spite of her regret. It was too bad Henry couldn't come over today… but nothing had yet been said about tomorrow, or Wednesday, or any other damn day of the week. Lisa finally turned and headed out to the senior parking lot like Henry said, all the way wishing she could have had Henry come with her to the back seat of her car, for just five minutes. It was too bad, in a way, that her boyfriend had such high standards- but then again, it was just one more reason she loved him.

**XX**

Watching Lisa go- and admiring the view of her retreating, shapely form, Mark couldn't help but grin. As soon as they were alone in the hallway- by now the other Varsity football players, juniors and seniors, had filtered out of the locker room and headed home- Mark broke out laughing.

"That show you gave her, man," Mark laughed, "That shit was priceless! You looked like you really meant it!"

Henry shoved his brother, hard enough any lesser boy would have crashed into the wall across the hallway. "Calling me a liar?"

Shoving the blond teen back, Mark growled, "Fuck yeah, I am."

"I'll kick your ass!" Henry threatened.

"Come at me, bro!" Mark said, shoving at Henry with both hands. They grappled briefly before abruptly losing interest, and Henry shrugged it off, grinning once more.

"She wants me so fuckin _bad_, man," Henry said boastfully. "Just wait! I'm gonna have the hottest slave in this goddamn school soon."

Mark's face fell. He'd been hoping to be able to say the same thing about Amy by now… what a damn disappointment she'd turned out to be.

Seeing the look on his brother's face, Henry immediately stopped his bragging. "Hey, look, Mark," Henry said quietly. "I'm sorry." He felt like an idiot; how could he have forgotten what was going on with Amy, even for a moment? It was unforgivable.

But Mark waved it off, calmed by Henry's genuine support as he always was. "It's okay," Mark said. "You don't _need_ to be sorry. _She_ does." His face brightening a little, Mark went on, "Besides, with a little help from you, I'm gonna be well on my way to getting Julie after this weekend."

Grinning at Mark's use of the highly attractive chemistry teacher's first name, Henry threw a muscular arm around his brother's broad shoulders as they started heading for the doors that lead out to the senior parking lot. He could tell right away that Mark was coming up with a plan, and would need only certain support from Henry to make it work. And as always, Henry was there to lend a hand.

He made sure Mark knew this with one simple question. "What do you need, brother?"


	21. Chapter 21- The Doctor's Speech

**Chapter XXI- The Doctor's Speech**

* * *

This was it. Today was the day.

Outwardly, Mark was calm and confident, striding through the halls with an arrogance that was perfectly fitting, given who he was. Top of the social ladder, king jock, and alongside his brother, the strongest, richest, most handsome boy in the school. Mark walked to his first class for the afternoon with the calm, arrogant assurance that he always did, not even noticing as lesser students, boys and girls alike, hurried to get out of his way.

Inwardly, though, Mark was rather excited, and very, very pleased with himself. He'd been toying around with the idea of screwing the hot new chemistry teacher ever since she'd shown up at Chamberlain High for the start of the 1998-1999 school year, but now it had gone much farther than merely thinking about it. He'd been preparing, laying the groundwork- and soon, after playing a few more cards from his hand… soon, Mark was finally going to do it.

Or, more accurately, do _her_.

It wasn't that the auburn-haired teen hadn't enjoyed his share of attractive women already. By the start of senior year, Mark had stopped keeping count of how many girls he had fucked. There was the ever-growing list of upperclassmen girls, the occasional sophomore or freshman from his underclassmen days, and of course, those cute travelling college girls that Mark and his brother picked up and enjoyed, before disposing of them in the vast, cavernous rooms of Fleetwood Hall.

Once in a while, Mark felt a little strange about dropping his pants and raping one of the college girls he or Henry had picked up, right there in front of his brother. And it was kind of weird, in a way, sliding his own cock in right where Henry's had just been. But ultimately, Mark didn't mind; the sex felt good, his brother would sometimes be restraining the girl's boyfriend (if he was present) and taunting him, and the girl's whimpering and pleading while Mark had his fun actually increased the enjoyment of it quite a bit. Mark sometimes wished he could be rougher with the girls he slept with, force his strength and size on them more aggressively. But if Mark did that, word would get around, and his spotless public image might suffer. Not acceptable.

More than anything, though, Mark just loved the idea of what he was now so close to achieving. It was every high school boy's dream; fucking the hot new female teacher. Dozens if not hundreds of teenage boys lusted after attractive female teachers every day, but few if any acted on that lust- and even fewer actually achieved anything because of it. Very, very rarely, though, a teenage boy of innovation, courage, charm and daring would find a way. He'd break past that initial resistance, those ever-present barriers that kept horny teenage boys from screwing the female teachers they had their eyes on. Mark had finally found a way to make sure it happened, that he, once again, triumphed where so many others had failed. He was close to scoring once again, and was immensely pleased with himself for it.

Mark was so busy feeling smugly content, in fact, that he didn't even notice Blake Kingswood, that sandy-blond-haired reject from the Varsity football tryouts, dropping his eyes and trying to slink by unnoticed. A grinning, blue-eyed Andrew Cadiz- whose nicely-cared-for red hair was an even more blazing shade than Chris Marshal's- did notice, however, and saw a delightful chance to get back at his hated enemy and gain a little favour with Mark Evans at the same time.

**XX**

Andrew Cadiz hated Blake Kingswood, enough that if he wasn't so concerned about getting laid in high school and even more in college as a football player, murder might have crossed his mind one dark night. As it was, Andrew knew Blake from years back, and still remembered bitterly the day when he'd spilled water on himself in a very inconvenient place during lunch, and Blake had told everybody it was piss.

Well, this was Wednesday, and just this past Monday, Andrew had seen that fixed for good. The fiery-red-haired Cadiz boy might have been falsely accused of urinating in his pants once, and he did indeed suffer the humiliation as if he'd actually done it. But this past Monday, Andrew had gotten to stand there in the locker room, getting a perfect view of the action, as Mark and Henry Evans together destroyed Blake Kingswood without ever setting a hand on him.

The entire locker room had been laughing at Blake, who really had pissed himself after Henry Evans almost punched him in the face. And it had been a true moment of glory for Andrew, who did his pushups and made good use of his charm, looks and finances like any other well-off teenage boy, to stand there, buck naked, and wink at Blake Kingswood. It had been as humiliating for Blake as it was funny for Andrew, and already he could tell his social status was only going to climb after this. Senior year was going to be _awesome_.

And something else had truly pleased Andrew on Monday. Sure, he had pretty much just limped to his car, driven home and passed out, still hearing Jason Morgan's innovative and searing curses ringing in his ears… but Andrew had still gone to sleep with a smile on his face.

He'd seen his hated rival in the shower. Not only was Andrew stronger by a slight margin, more physically fit, but he was… better _endowed_. Andrew might have been shamed, even awed in a way, by the Evans brothers. But how was _that_ ever new? It was just one more thing that proved nobody could match the Evans brothers. _No-one_ could surpass them, or even stand on their level. But the ones who came closest, who at least stood well above the average for more ordinary teenagers' standards, gained great glory for it. And Andrew, with his looks, charm, and a pretty decently-sized cock, was definitely a man on the way up.

As he reached a T-intersection in one of the school's many long and white-walled hallways, Andrew noticed his beaten enemy- no doubt much sorer than he was from the trials of Monday, in mind as well as in body- trying to sneak by Mark Evans as they passed in the halls.

_Oh, not today_, Andrew thought as a grin spread on his face. _Not today_.

Elbowing two friends beside him, Robbie Nilsson and Ed Lyman, Andrew pointed his enemy out, then cupped his hands and called out:

"Hey, Blake! Go home and change your fucking _pants_!"

The general traffic of students kept going, but every jock within earshot busted up laughing. Slapping palms with Ed, Robbie, and any other teammates he happened to pass, Andrew Cadiz rejoiced at his good fortune once more. He coasted through the afternoon (which included some private time with his current girlfriend in his truck, after school) with a smile on his face, truly pleased to have sunk the barb of Blake Kingswood's defeat just a little deeper.

One thing lessened the fun of the moment, though.

Mark Evans, the very one Andrew had been so hoping to please and impress, had just headed on through the intersection, above everyone around him in all ways, always. He hadn't even noticed.

**XX**

Mark had heard Andrew Cadiz's mocking call-out to Blake Kingswood, and Mark had indeed noticed the lesser boy trying to sneak by him in the hall. The auburn-haired teen just hadn't cared.

He approved of the two-faced, callous way that the Cadiz boy went after his enemies (or anyone not a friend) and his girlfriends, fucking them both in two very different ways. Andrew, like pretty much every single other popular boy at Chamberlain these days, had worshipped at the feet of the Evans brothers since the day he'd come out of the small-time accomplishments of junior high and begun advancing into the real thing.

The Cadiz kid was learning the lessons Mark and his brother taught well, sure enough. But he was an annoying, ginger-haired prick who walked like he had an eight-inch cock and talked like he was already on his way to joining Mark and Henry's inner circle.

Mark debated killing him. Just getting him alone sometime, choking the ginger-haired shit to death and watching for that one, special moment… the moment when the light of life left Andrew Cadiz's eyes.

It would be fun, sure. And Henry would definitely help make it happen. If Mark wanted it to, it would happen. But… disciples like Andrew were useful, in their own way. By so eagerly accepting everything Mark and his brother taught them, they made sure that successive classes of boys at Chamberlain would also follow the Evans brothers' example. It was guys like Andrew Cadiz, who advanced socially by fitting the mold and imitating the Evans brothers better than anyone in their class, who made sure that Henry and Mark would remain legends in this school for years.

They made sure that the weak were without question obedient to the strong, silent and thankful that their oppression wasn't worse. They made certain that relationships were about sex and not any of that romantic crap, and that only the wealthy, good-looking kids would ever get anywhere at Chamberlain. Mark had always thought of poor kids, with their cheap clothes and rusty cars, as highly distasteful. Andrew Cadiz might have been an arrogant, stuck-up little prick, but he had his purpose. And at least he drove a one-year-old Oldsmobile Bravada.

Mark sat in the front row of his Chemistry class, as he always did. He was attentive and took notes as usual, now and then raising his hand and asking a question. And as he so often did, Mark stayed after class to talk to Miss- Julie- Michaels. She had a truly beautiful body, and unlike so many of the girls Mark had slept with since that amazing first during freshman year, Julie Michaels was actually quite smart, too. She might actually have some things to say that Mark would want to hear, even after she was under his thumb and begging for another fuck like all the rest of them.

And she would. It would still take some time, take some further patience and work, but Julie would get there. Mark could tell he was gonna enjoy this- he might not get bored with Julie for a long time.

It took some effort for Mark not to smirk as he approached his favourite teacher as class ended, making sure he was standing just a little closer than most boys would have dared. Julie Michaels' pale, cream-coloured cheeks turned slightly pink as she glanced over from wiping off the whiteboard, but she didn't say anything in objection. Mark knew- he could tell- that she was enjoying the close-up look at him too much.

You haven't seen anything yet, Mark thought, and wanted to grin at the very thought. This was going to be a lot of fun.

"Hey, Miss Michaels," Mark said, smiling slightly in greeting. "Great class so far. It's been real interesting this week."

"I'm surprised you noticed, Mark," Julie Michaels answered with a wry smile. "You're already breezing along so well, I'm not sure if you noticed this is an advanced class."

Leaning calmly against the wall of the classroom, Mark shrugged his broad, powerful shoulders. He knew it was a sight his chemistry teacher secretly enjoyed- his t-shirts, big as they were, somehow never seemed so big that they didn't show off every inch of Mark's sculpted, chiseled athlete's form. It was like everything else Mark did to make himself above everyone around him in every way- appearing to be casual, almost by accident, yet always, every time, deliberate and very much on purpose.

"Oh, I noticed, all right," the auburn-haired teenager said with a slight smile, and Julie Michaels started to blush as another sexual fantasy about Mark Evans abruptly leapt into her mind. She resumed erasing the last of the notes from the whiteboard with renewed vigor, praying her 5th Hour Chemistry class's best student hadn't noticed that she had just imagined he was flirting with her. And that it had triggered a very inappropriate- yet somehow delightful- image. It was… too bad Julie hadn't known any guys like this in college…

Damn! Julie missed a whole line of text and swung the eraser back to get it. How was this happening? Was it Mark doing something to her, saying certain words and putting ideas in her head, or was it all just Julie's imagination? She couldn't tell.

Mark, however, acted as if he didn't notice any of this, while also laughing inside and trying hard not to let it out. This was going beautifully. Here he was, a seventeen-year-old athlete in the absolute prime of his life, able to choose girls (or even women) with ease, and he was making a twenty-eight-year-old high school teacher blush like a schoolgirl.

I'll make her do more than that, Mark thought quite smugly, but forced himself back to the topic at hand. All this had happened in just a few moments, and Mark seamlessly went on, "It's just that I'm very, very good. Science has always been my favourite subject."

"I'm glad it is," Julie said with sincerity. "Too many boys- and girls- don't learn to appreciate science and mathematics. They're great subjects to learn, and can get you a long way in life."

"Speaking of which," Mark said, casually directing the conversation to where it needed to go, "Have you heard that Doctor Chandler is going to be speaking at the Bowdoin College this Saturday?"

"_Auden_ Chandler?" Julie Michaels almost squeaked, surprised in spite of herself. Doctor Auden Chandler, Bowdoin College Class of 1957 and one of the greatest-ever chemists to come out of New England, was a legend in Maine these days. His studies had ranged into conservation and natural resource sciences as well, and state as well as national park services had been seeking Dr. Chandler's advice for years.

"The very one," Mark nodded. "He's giving a talk on 'Conservation & Recreation", and how nearly every form of known science can be applied- one way or another- to creating sustainable tourism industries and preserving valuable ecosystems and habitats."

It was a neat, concise little speech, and Mark thanked himself for making sure to read up on the key points Dr. Chandler would be covering. It was a risk, in a way, buying those damn expensive tickets to an event where chemistry wasn't even the number one topic of discussion. But from the look on Julie Michaels' face, there wasn't much of a problem there.

After a moment, though, Julie's face fell. "Oh, but there's no way they won't be asking for tickets."

Mark was holding one up in one raised hand before Julie had even finished speaking.

"I got two, actually," the auburn-haired teen said, as if oblivious to the stunned look on his chemistry teacher's smooth, beautiful face. "But I can't go. I have a… uh. Ahem. Doctor's appointment."

Catching his meaning, Julie blushed crimson and abruptly dropped the eraser. This wasn't going well… she'd just let her mind go somewhere awful.

"Uh- well," Julie said after the heat in her face had faded, "What- when is Dr. Chandler going to be speaking?"

"It starts at seven-thirty," Mark said. "Ends at nine." He handed the ticket to his chemistry teacher, and she looked at it, visibly stunned. This little piece of paper… could not have been cheap.

But then Julie remembered one of the first things she'd ever heard about Mark and Henry Evans, and everyone in their family. Related to some of the oldest-ever families in New England, the Evans family had done a little of this, some more of that, and apparently come out quite well for it. Neither Mark nor his brother were ever seen or heard to be lacking- not for money, or for anything.

"I'd go, myself," Mark said, the regret he felt plain to see. "I would really like to. But so far, the doctor's office has been saying they can't reschedule." He shrugged. "That's just how it's working out this week, I guess."

Looking back at his teacher, Mark added, "Well, you'll be able to go, right? I'd hate to have both of these tickets go to waste."

"I'll be going," Julie said, suddenly very sure of herself. After hearing about Auden Chandler and his brilliant, insightful studies into chemistry and conservation biology both for so many years, Julie wouldn't have missed a thirty-minute drive to hear a speech of his if it had been about trends in the number of Volvo garbage trucks in America.

"Good," Mark said, smiling again. "Glad to hear it."

And with that, he turned and headed out of the classroom, and Julie abruptly found herself once again occupied as the 6th Hour class began to walk in.

**XX**

The Saturday evening drive from Rockbridge- one of Portland's most desirable suburbs and schooling districts- to Brunswick, where Bowdoin College was located, took about what Julie expected, close to exactly thirty minutes. The 1988 Mercury Topaz that Julie owned- the first one she'd ever bought, and which she expected to own for some time to come- got her there just fine. It might have been ten years old and driving in the northernmost state in New England, but the Topaz was holding up pretty well.

At one point during the drive out to Bowdoin College, Julie couldn't help but regret that Mark Evans hadn't been able to come out to see Dr. Chandler speak. He was an intelligent, articulate, handsome young man- more than good enough by the standards Julie had back in high school and college. And, being honest with herself… Mark was more than good enough for her standards now, too.

But he was seventeen years old, a high school student. A boy, just starting out in life. Julie was twenty-eight, and while she had been blessed to have so fully retained her youthful good looks even late into her twenties, Julie was not at all a part of Mark Evans' world. High school had been a while ago for her- there wasn't some way to go back and do it again. Not for high school, or for anything else.

Julie remembered guys like Mark from high school, and from college. Like them, Mark was muscular and good-looking, with affluent parents and all the right stuff to be at the top of the popular crowd. He was surrounded by adoring girls and worshipping boys, though he probably didn't pay much attention to most of either. And given that he was extremely popular, wealthy, good-looking and charming- just being honest, Julie reminded herself- Mark had probably had his "first time" a while ago. Boys- and girls- were excited and eager about those things in high school, and hormones ran pretty strong at that age. It was only now, with some age behind her, that Julie was coming to understand that any good relationship needed to have more than sex to it. That was a plus, yes, and one to be enjoyed- especially if he was good at it. But there had to be more.

As she found a parking space- needing to go pretty far out in the college's main parking lot, even twenty minutes before the doctor was to begin his lecture- Julie felt a certain satisfaction in the way she'd handled herself with boys over the years. Some of the best-looking girls in her class, some of the most popular, slept with a boy as early as eighth grade. Most of the popular crowd had their "first" in freshman or sophomore year. Julie, blessed with good looks to make even a cheerleader feel envy, had dated her share of boys, and many of them had been sufficiently daring to try for more than just a goodnight kiss.

But Julie had taken her time, and could honestly say, even with high school, college, and graduate school behind her, she was no slut. She hadn't used her looks to become popular, or to get ahead in anything she did. It was always her intelligence, her drive, her initiative- that was how you got places in the world. Sleeping around never brought a life of any real substance or meaning.

So preoccupied was Julie with these ruminations over her past, and the romantic life common to popular athletes in high school, that she almost didn't notice the handsome young man standing on the front steps of the academic building in front of her, hands set firmly in the pockets of a black suede jacket that had a fur-lining on the inside. Not the cheap type of winter wear, that was for sure. As Julie almost walked into him, she half-stumbled back and began to apologize, but then stopped, surprised beyond words, when she saw who it was.

"Hey, Miss Michaels," Mark Evans said with a warm smile. "I made it here tonight after all."

**XX**

The smoke of the cigarette was warm- hot, even, and with a lesser boy it might have induced coughing as the lungs tried to reject it. But Henry just leaned back in the comfortable, yet firm cloth seat of his first car, the Golden Eagle, exhaling the smoke just as lazily as you please. He had the driver's window down, and the increasingly-frigid air of the approaching night didn't bother him in the least. Since he was a small boy, Henry had loved the cold. Been _fascinated_ by it.

_A place like this, Maine… it whittles a man down to his true self_.

Henry took another drag from the cigarette, stretching his formidable athlete's frame out in the front seat of his car. He nodded slightly, silently complimenting himself on such an insightful thought, and then acknowledging that compliment.

Then the blond teenage glanced off to his left- down a long line of cars at one edge of the parking lot, conveniently in view of the main science classes building nearby- and spotted his brother, who had been on the front steps bullshitting with that hot chemistry teacher, Julie Michaels, finally starting to head in alongside her. It was playing out just as Mark had predicted; she had been surprised, and he pretended to be. She was curious as to how Mark's "appointment" hadn't kept him after all, and Mark offered a plausible explanation. And within a couple of minutes, Mark Evans was walking inside Thorn Hall with his chemistry teacher, laying just a little more groundwork for another kind of chemistry altogether.

Exhaling the smoke of the cigarette, Henry tapped the cigarette between his fingers and laughed. "Normal" boys, and more than a few of them, could live twenty lifetimes and not get as much pussy in one of those as Mark and Henry did in a week. When you were smart, strong, rich and sexy as hell… it was like every girl in the school was lining up to open her legs to you. Henry and his brother always got a laugh when they went to the beach somewhere in the summer, or to an outdoor or indoor pool. The second they took their shirts off, every girl- and some women, even- was looking their way. To say the Evans brothers' muscular, sculpted forms turned heads was a gross understatement.

But at moments like this, that was just the problem. Henry was tall, handsome, and muscular enough to lift the front of any average car (and more than a few trucks) off the ground with his bare hands. When you saw somebody like that coming your way, or saw him crossing a parking lot, you always remembered him. Fucking _always_.

So Henry just did the only thing he could for the moment- he waited. Smoked one cigarette down to the damn filter, then lit up another and smoked the shit out of that one. It was a good way of passing the time, while he waited for the parking lot to clear out as everybody showed up and headed inside. Only two past-times would have been better- if Lisa Doyle had been in the back seat of Henry's car, or if some weak little freshman had been. A good fuck, or a good murder, would have done wonders to better Henry's mood and pass the time. But the former would have been impossible, as Henry refused to lower himself to fucking in the back of a car like some common teenager. And the latter? Henry chuckled. Only problem with that was he'd forgotten to kidnap a freshman today.

Gradually, though, as Henry was halfway through his third cigarette, the myriad groups of people arriving, in groups or by themselves, finally died out as the last handful presented their tickets at the door and the college staff headed inside as well.

_About time_, Henry thought, flicking the cigarette outside and wishing it would set some fucker's car on fire once he'd left. _Let's do this_.

Getting out of the gold Vision he drove here, Henry swung the driver's door shut again and walked a short distance towards Thorn Hall, then cut right through two face-to-face ranks of cars and found the one he was looking for in the next line.

It was a black Mercury Topaz, V6 and the nice XR5 model. Sporty, possibly with a manual transmission. Hardly up to Henry's standards, but not bad. It could've been one of those goddamn communist Yugos.

Shrugging this off, Henry nodded to himself as he read the license plate- XRV-5229. This was the correct car, all right. Henry strode over towards the car, never once casting a furtive glance around him or ever breaking his stride. He didn't appear nervous, and he wasn't; even now Henry held his head high, carrying himself with the strength and grace of a young king.

Crossing around to the front of the black Mercury, Henry crouched down and ran a hand under the forward edge of the hood. Unfolding a narrow metal device that he took from his pocket, Henry pointed the narrow, flat end of it under the hood and worked it under the latch. This was getting tough to do- making the hood-release mechanism think you had pulled the release inside the car- but Henry managed it, and the hood gave a slight chunk! as it popped free.

The blond teen smiled, pleased with himself so far. He'd created this handy little tool a few years ago, out in the shed his parents had long ago left for Henry to use. You never knew when a little automotive sabotage might be necessary- or simply fun. And in this case, especially since it was helping Mark, Henry considered it to be something of both.

Raising the hood easily with one hand, Henry looked down into the Mercury's darkened engine bay. His eyes swiftly adjusted to the dark, and even with just a little light shining out from the windows of Thorn Hall, Henry was able to find the car's starter. It was too simple; disable the starter, or mess with the battery, and you'd stop the car. If you were smart- and had the right tools- you could make the sabotage very difficult to notice, even for an experienced mechanic. If the owner wasn't very knowledgeable about cars, there was a very real chance they would never, ever know anything but an ordinary accident or break-down had occurred.

Henry knew firsthand, of course- he'd tested this theory out several times.

Working calmly and with practiced ease, Henry flipped his hand-tool around and now used the clippers he'd fixed to the opposite end. With a few expert cuts, Henry severed some wiring that connected the battery to the rest of the car. Not the main battery cables; that was too easily noticed. But the engine bay of most any modern car had its share of wiring, and if you knew what all of it was for… the possibilities were endless.

Even so, Henry disconnected one of the battery cables for good measure, leaving it just slightly out of its normal position. At a glance, you would probably not notice a difference. But the car sure would, since a half-connected battery never got a car to start.

All this, of course, would be easy enough to replace; Henry had already bought the replacement wires and knew how to reconnect a battery. He'd be back here soon enough, coming to fix the car he'd disabled on his brother's behalf. Henry grinned as he dropped the hood again, pleased at his good work and wishing his brother good luck. Then, upon folding up and pocketing his self-made tool, Henry got up and walked back through the parking lot to his own car. Starting the Vision up, the blond teenager quickly and easily made his way out of the parking lot. He began the half-hour drive home with a smile on his face. Lisa's parents were going to be out late tonight, and they were gonna have the whole place to themselves.

Particularly pleasing, for Henry, was the hint of desperation he'd noticed in Lisa's voice when they talked after school that day. She didn't just want him- Lisa was well past that. She truly believed she needed Henry, needed nothing short of weekly (at minimum) sex with the boy she'd been lusting after for years. Henry intended to give Lisa what she wanted, as that was the whole reason he'd begun dating her in the first place. But he was going to make sure Lisa had to… _convince_ him first. It was just so much fun to see her get on her knees and beg.

**XX**

Julie barely noticed certain points at the beginning, middle and end of Dr. Chandler's speech. It was just what she'd expected- insightful, intelligent, and more than thought-provoking. Though a chemist by profession, Auden Chandler had a strong personal interest in conservation biology and state and federal park systems. They were a passion of his, something he truly believed showed the public what good science could do, and how it was not just a field for engineers and nuclear physicists.

But even so, Julie kept missing bits of it. Nervous, almost fearful tremors ran through her now and then, and beneath that nervousness… was excitement.

Mark Evans was sitting right next to her.

Julie couldn't quite seem to concentrate on listening to Dr. Chandler. She would try to concentrate on visualizing a particular park Chandler was referring too- a couple he named, Julie had seen in person- but ended up trying to visualize Mark instead. It was that damned conversation those other two teachers had been having in the lunch room that day, weeks ago. Those two women, gushing over the Evans boys like a couple of high school girls. Julie had done all she could to stay above that kind of unprofessional talk, to stay out of it.

But this boy, Mark… he was different. Somehow he just was. Not in any one way, any single way in particular, but in every way. He just wasn't what you expected. And if you ever tried to take a closer look, put Mark or his brother under close scrutiny, they seemed to blur and move away like a mirage would. Always just beyond reach, ever just beyond understanding.

Finally, the lecture came to an end with a brief time for questions, and Mark actually stood up to ask one Julie herself had been thinking. She smiled her thanks to him as he sat down again, and he smiled back. It was like he'd known what she'd been thinking, the whole time.

Julie almost hated it when the auditorium began to empty out again, the gathered audience once again putting on their jackets and coats and heading out into the night. Putting on hers as she picked it up from her seat, Julie thanked Mark for his generosity in getting her a ticket, and like a perfect gentleman he held the door for her as she went outside. They wished each other good night, and Julie felt herself somehow thankful when they parted.

She didn't feel… _safe_ around him.

Not in a bad or threatening way; not that. It was completely different. It was the kind of fear where you knew if you spent too much time around a person, you would have a harder and harder time resisting if they ever made a move. It was ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous that Julie could be getting that nervous feeling about one of her high school students… but she could tell it was happening. Now was a great time to have some distance between herself and Mark Evans.

Julie walked to her car with forced calm, making herself concentrate on remembering her classes and what she'd need to do before the next week began on Monday. It helped, in a way- getting her mind of Mark Evans. She didn't like the thoughts she kept having about him. "Unprofessional" was the perfect word for them. The mental images, too.

**XX**

The car wouldn't start.

She hardly even noticed, at first- something about the ignition system was getting weak, and Julie's Mercury Topaz had been having difficulty starting on the first try for a while. But the second try didn't start the car, or the third. A light sheen of sweat broke out on Julie' forehead, and finally she got out and raised the hood. Looking around, Julie could tell she was going to be on her own before long if this was a serious problem. Not many tow trucks or mechanics had come to the lecture, and it was a long drive heading home…

A big, metallic-red Grand Cherokee gunned its engine, coming around a row of cars behind her, but soon slowed and came to a stop. As its V8 settled into an idle, the front window rolled down and Mark Evans leaned out.

"Need any help, Miss Michaels?" he called, and Julie blushed, thankful for the dark and the cold.

"My car isn't starting!" Julie called back, giving the best answer she could.

"Sounds to me like you need some help then," Mark replied, hopping out of his Jeep and walking over to her. He walked with an easy, confident grace- ever the classic gentleman.

"I-I don't know what's wrong with it," Julie confessed. "It was starting just fine when I headed out here, but…" she trailed off, unsure of what else to add. Then Julie looked at Mark hopefully. "Do _you_ know much about cars?"

To her dismay, the auburn-haired teen laughed. "No," he said with a shrug, "I probably don't know any more than you do. But my brother Henry does. He's great with this kind of stuff."

"Could he get out here tonight?" Julie asked, knowing what the answer would probably be.

"Oh, not _tonight_," Mark said, laughing a little. "Henry's got a lot keeping him busy on Saturdays." It was true, too, since Mark knew that his brother was probably quite busy at the moment. Quite busy, indeed.

Seeing the crestfallen look on Julie Michaels' pretty, pale-skinned face, Mark added, "But I'll let him know, trust me, Miss Michaels. He'll be out here first thing tomorrow, and whatever's the problem with your car, I know he can fix it."

"But I can't just leave you stranded out here, Miss Michaels!" Mark exclaimed, appearing shocked at the very thought. "Henry and I can be out here tomorrow, but for now I've got to get you home."

Julie's heart jumped, and the low, nervous feeling she'd had before now skyrocketed. That couldn't happen! She couldn't let a student, not even eighteen, drive her home! It was against every rule in the book. What if… what if something happened? Even if nothing happened, but Mark walked into Principal Decauter's office Monday morning and said something happened, Julie would get in trouble all the same.

But what choice was there? No mechanic's garages in the Brunswick area would still be open now. Even the ones in Portland or Rockbridge would be closed, too.

No. It was the worst possible choice, but Julie knew there was nothing else for it.

"Thank you, Mark," she said with some effort. "I appreciate it."

Bowing gracefully to her, Mark smiled. "It's my pleasure, Miss Michaels. Glad to be of service."

**XX**

The ride home took a while- it was the same distance back as it had been coming out here, and that meant more than a few minutes of driving- but for Julie it seemed to go by too fast. She had been reluctant to strike up conversation at first, and in fact had made some effort to stare out the window and avoid it. But Mark was even more talkative now than he was in class, and soon drew Julie out of her shell- however reluctantly- with his usual brilliant, insightful questions and comments about the day's lecture. His commentary on Dr. Chandler more than once involved favourable comparisons between him and Julie, noting a remarkable similarity in intelligence and ability.

"I'm hardly as noted a chemist as he is, Mark," Julie said at one point, but the teen just shrugged. "You will be," he said, and with such certainty Julie looked at him. He looked back, and she saw he meant it.

The Grand Cherokee had a powerful heater, Julie felt warm and comfortable within minutes of the ride's start. By the time the end was drawing close, Julie wished it would go on longer- if only so she didn't have to give up this wonderful comfort and those plush leather seats.

And, being honest with herself, Julie knew she was reluctant to leave the same vehicle that Mark was riding in. He was a brilliant, strong boy, and it was somehow very, very exciting to be so close to him for so long.

But before she was ready for it, Mark had followed Julie's directions perfectly. There they were, right in front of her house, parked at the curb.

Mark even walked her to the door, the gallant young gentleman every step of the way.

Turning to him as they reached her front door, Julie said- once more with some effort- "Mark, thank you. I hope you have a g-"

What happened next occurred so fast Julie wasn't even sure she hadn't just fallen, hit her head, and had a very real-seeming dream.

Mark Evans took Julie in his arms- powerful, muscular arms as thick as tree trunks- pulled her close, and kissed her.

Involuntarily Julie closed her eyes, and even her shock at this bold, totally inappropriate move by her best student was swept away. Abruptly, all of that ceased to exist. The whole rest of the world outside Julie Michaels' front porch ceased to exist. For the moment, just for the moment, Julie closed her eyes as this handsome, wonderful boy's lips pressed gently against hers.

This was the best damn kiss of her entire life. There wasn't a doubt in the world.

Finally, they parted, and for a moment Mark looked at her, his face calm but his eyes bright and intense.

"I love you, Miss Michaels," he said. "There isn't a thing about you I don't like. I see a lot of pretty girls in the halls every day, but you're beautiful, and there's a big difference. I've met some smart girls, but you're… brilliant. Every girl I've met is nothing next to you."

Julie just stared up at Mark, stunned beyond words. She was, for the first time in her life, truly speechless.

"We were made for each other," Mark said quietly, his brown eyes never once leaving Julie's green ones. "The perfect man, and the perfect woman. There isn't a better match in the world."

She had to say something. Anything! Julie opened her mouth to speak, not even sure what she was going to say, but Mark put a stop to that. Some boys might have put a finger to Julie's lips, or something else to interrupt her, but Mark did something else entirely. He leaned forward, once again closing the short space between them, and kissed Julie a second time. His tongue thrust between her open lips, eagerly exploring the inside of Julie's mouth. He tasted of mints.

In that instant, Julie's brief return to reality- or maybe just the beginning of it- instantly disappeared. Everything else was swept away, and Julie got a rush of excitement like never before in her life. Emotions, hormones came to life like never before, and Julie felt a wave of heat that made her wonder if it hadn't suddenly become nighttime in June. And sexual arousal… Julie felt a rush of it, and strong. Strong. She had never been so turned on in her life.

Suddenly, throwing all caution to the wind, Julie broke away from Mark… and then embraced him, placing her hands on his muscular, barn-door-wide shoulders, and kissed him with all the passion she had.

Mark opened his mouth to receive Julie's tongue this time, and soon their tongues met, excitedly probing and tasting each other's mouths. Julie was turned on. She was excited. Right now, she didn't care at all what age Mark was, she just knew that she wanted him, and bad. She pulled herself closer, and felt the firm, gentle pressure of Mark's muscular chest against her breasts. Suddenly Julie worried about that. Was her chest the right size for him? Were they pretty enough?

The auburn-haired teen didn't say anything, but he responded the best way a teenage boy could when kissing someone beautiful. One of Mark's hands began caressing Julie's back, then moved down to her buttocks. She gave a low, happy moan, and hugged him tighter, eagerly responding to each move he made as they began to make out.

It all happened so fast. It could have lasted ten seconds, or ten minutes. But Julie took a hand off Mark's strong, incredible shoulders and touched his ass… it was as muscular as the rest of him. Just as firm, as strong. She caressed him like he'd done to her, and loved the feel of it just the same. He kissed her, and she kissed back. They French-kissed right there on the porch, and Mark slid a hand under her coat, under her shirt, up Julie's pale belly and gently massaged one of her breasts. Julie sighed, and as if on its own one of her hands began moving towards the buckle of Marks's belt-

"We can't do this!"

Julie stumbled backward, blushing crimson and weak-kneed. She had somehow managed to come to her senses, just enough to stop… what she'd been about to do… And now look where it had gotten her.

"We can't!" Julie gasped, and abruptly threw up her hands and pushed out of Mark's grip. He let her go, of course- Julie just knew. She wouldn't have gotten free of those arms if she'd pushed with every ounce of strength that she had. Mark let her go.

Mortified, turned-on, and ashamed in equal extremes, Julie once again gasped a desperate protest, and turned to unlock her front door. She dropped the keys twice before finally getting it open and hurrying inside, slamming the door shut behind her.

Outside, Mark stood on the porch for just a moment, savouring the thrill of the moment just passed and the incredible feeling it gave him. His heart was beating just a little too fast, his adrenaline was flowing just a little too strong, and his penis was just a little too hard.

That was good.

Without saying a word, Mark turned and headed off Julie Michaels' front porch and practically skipped his way back to the Jeep, a wide, triumphant grin on his face.


	22. Chapter 22- Sunday Afternoon

**Chapter XXII: Sunday Afternoon**

* * *

Stretching gently as she began to wake up, noticing for the first time the warm morning sun shining down on her face from the bedroom window, Julie smiled. She felt… good. Her eyes remained closed, and she shifted a little in her half-sleep, her slender, attractive frame halfway under the covers.

Julie didn't sleep naked, though she obviously had on the select occasions when she'd slept with a boyfriend that night. But, ever appreciative of her youthful good looks and the chance to let her hair down and relax a little, Julie did typically sleep in her underwear, often under a nightgown. This morning, Julie felt the same warm, enjoyable feeling she experienced after a good, happy night with her boyfriend. She felt calm, satisfied- there was no other way to put it. Julie just felt _good_.

She rolled over under the covers, smiling as she savored this good, warm feeling. It was wonderful, really, and Julie seemed to remember it was all thanks to last night. There was the delicious memory of being excited, of being turned-on and experiencing a kind of sexual arousal she hadn't known in months. Years, even. There was the memory of a strong, handsome boy- no, a _man_- and the most wonderful kind of kiss…

_Oh, my God_!

The slender blonde teacher sat bolt upright in bed, powerful waves of guilt, realization and horror washing over her. Dear God, what had she _done_?

Julie was horrified. She was almost literally trembling in fear. Not just for her sanity, as after all the inappropriate thoughts and even feelings she'd been having about him, Julie felt like she was in danger of losing her mind. But Julie's career was at stake now. She had broken every damn rule in the book. She'd let a student at the high school she taught at give her a ride home, after letting him buy her tickets to an event she'd have had no chance at going to otherwise. Then she had let him walk her to the door of her home… and then she'd been foolish enough to let herself enjoy what happened next, when Mark's teenage hormones seized hold of him and he made the same move he'd already made with plenty of girls his own age.

_I let Mark Evans kiss me_, Julie thought with horror. _I kissed Mark Evans_.

How could this have happened? What could have possibly possessed her to not only allow that teenager to kiss her, but to actually let her own hormones get hold of her and kiss him back?

_I wanted him so bad_, Julie remembered. That kiss was amazing. Being honest, in fact, it was the best she'd ever had. And from a boy who was only seventeen! Julie had dated guys in college who weren't half as passionate- or as talented.

But that didn't _matter_! It was wrong to even think that. And if word got out about this, Julie knew she'd be lucky to lose only her job. Nothing was worth that; not even getting the best turn-on she'd had in years. It just wasn't worth what it could cost.

And I let it happen. Julie felt horrible. She'd made such a terrible mistake.

Well, there was only one thing to do about it. Only one response to this terrible situation existed. This had to end! Julie had to stop fantasizing about having sex with Mark Evans, about seeing that gorgeous, muscular frame naked and hovering over her in her bedroom. She had to stop blushing whenever he stood too close, and stealing glances at his thick, powerful arms and broad, strong shoulders whenever he was in class. It had all been fun for a while, but Julie had let it go much, much too far. And truth be told, every second of it had been totally inappropriate in the first place. This would end on Monday. Julie would tell Mark that their age gap and vastly different lives meant nothing could ever come between them, and that as his teacher she had professional boundaries to never cross.

Finally, with her mind made up and that issue resolved, Julie showered, brushed her teeth, and headed downstairs for breakfast.

Perhaps thirty minutes later, as she was putting away the cereal box she'd gotten out and setting the dishes in the sink, Julie heard a car turning into her driveway. A quick glance out the living room window showed it was hers! The blonde watched, stunned, as Mark's equally tall, handsome, and muscular brother emerged from the driver's seat of Julie's Mercury Topaz. Turning the car off and taking the keys with him, Henry Evans walked casually up the front drive and towards Julie's porch.

Just then, Julie noticed something else. Idling in the street was Mark's Grand Cherokee, with none other than the auburn-haired teenager sitting behind the wheel! Julie abruptly ducked down and vanished beneath the living room window. She was abruptly seized by an urge to not be seen, not by either Mark or his brother. Julie knew she needed to talk to Mark, to cut this off and end any further romanticizing between the two of them. She also knew that she was passing up a valuable chance to do so right now, but what other choice was there? Julie could hardly talk to Mark about their kissing last night in front of his brother.

But… what if he told him? What if Henry already knew?

Over by the front door, Julie heard the doorbell ring. Once, then twice, and a third time after a full minute or two. She knew who it was, and knew that Henry held the keys to her car- repaired and running again, clearly- in his hand. But Julie couldn't get up and so much as leave the living room to meet Henry at the front door; she just couldn't bring herself to do it.

"Miss Michaels?"

Stealing a brief glance out her living room window, Julie could see Henry Evans, resplendent in an expensive-looking navy blue sweater and designer-brand jeans, standing at the front door, peering in through the glass oval in the middle. She could hear him just fine, but said nothing.

Maybe a minute after that, Julie heard a faint clinking sound at the small mailbox nailed to the side of the house, just outside her front door. The lid of it had just closed. Why? Julie peered up over the windowsill. She saw Henry Evans walking back off her front porch, down the lawn to Mark's dark-red Jeep. He got in, said something to his brother, and the Jeep turned away from the curb and drove off down the street, back the way it had come.

Julie suddenly felt disappointed.

It was hard to say why- well, she knew why, but was at present refusing to acknowledge it. Julie understood that she'd no choice. There was simply no way she could have spoken to Mark this morning, right there in front of his brother. But even so, Julie wished she could have spoken to Mark somehow. It was just disappointing, somehow, that he was leaving. Maybe that was the effect Mark had on all people- or maybe just the women he'd kissed.

Once Mark's Jeep was gone, and after checking again to make sure it was out of sight, Julie opened the front door of her house. Opening the small mailbox that hung on the wall outside and to the left, Julie found the keys to her Mercury.

Making a short walk down to the driveway, Julie opened the driver's side door- which had been carefully locked before the car had been left there- and sat down in the front seat. She turned over the engine, listening in wonder as it started easily and idled in the cool morning air. Then Julie noticed something else- the gas tank gauge. It had been half-empty when she'd attempted to turn her car on again, after Dr. Chandler's speech last night. Now, it was full.

Mark- or his brother- clearly had done this. Just to be nice, a little extra touch they didn't need to do, but did anyway. Just like how they'd fixed her car, and driven it back here. How many boys- or men- were there at all, who would be willing to do so much for a woman? Julie felt herself oddly touched, and for just a moment truly regretted the fact that she and Mark simply could not have a future together. It was sad, in a way… but it was nothing Julie could afford to dwell on. It just wasn't possible for it to work. Shaking off that wistful thought, Julie shut off her car and headed back inside. There was a lot of schoolwork that still needed grading.

**XX**

Situated amidst one of the most prestigious business districts of Rockbridge, the Cloverleaf Park Mall was a popular shopping, dining, and general hangout location for the teenagers of Portland's northern suburbs. Many of Chamberlain High's boys had their first date there, or at the movie theater nearby, and more than a few female students picked up their newest clothes and general gossip there.

Today, on Sunday afternoon in early October, Sharon Hunter was on a shopping trip with one of her best friends for the past several years, Amy Philips. Standing at an average five-foot-nine, Sharon had jet-black hair and was, like Amy, blessed with a strong mind as well as good looks. The former was a great help when the latter had boys beating down her door, especially with the way things were at Chamberlain High.

Sharon hadn't had sex yet, though God surely knew she'd had the opportunity. Just about every boyfriend she'd had seemed to live and die based off what Mark and Henry Evans thought of him, and impressing the brothers was impossible if you were a boy and a virgin. Even some of the nicer boys, like Scott Shepard, still let their cocks do too much of their thinking, and thus became convinced they "needed" sex. The Evans brothers sure thought that, and thus about every other teenager at Chamberlain thought so too.

Amy was in a great mood this afternoon, and as they browsed through the jeans on sale in Macy's, she was eagerly explaining why.

"Oh, Sharon," Amy said with a smile and a sigh, "I was so worried when I told him. I really was. I mean, when he first asked me out… I had a major case of the butterflies. I just couldn't believe he was asking me, yeah, but I knew about his reputation too."

"How he likes to do It with every girl he dates?" Sharon asked dryly, glancing at a pair of light-blue faded jeans and holding them up to her waist. She had been listening to Amy fawn over her gorgeous, hunky, auburn-haired boyfriend for more than two weeks now, and just couldn't help making such a remark.

Amy blushed almost as red as her hair; unlike Sharon, she had some real difficulty saying things like "sex" and "fuck" out loud. She also didn't look especially pleased about what Sharon had said. As was typical these days, Amy had been in the middle of talking glowingly about her boyfriend Mark, and was startled if someone else didn't seem to see him just the same way.

"Sharon," Amy said gently after a few moments, "Just give him a chance. Okay? I know he's got an image, and I guess he did do something to earn it. But he's a wonderful guy, he really is! And if all he wanted was sex-" Amy blushed a little just saying it- "why did he accept it when I told him I'm waiting till marriage? He didn't get mad, didn't yell at me…" Amy smiled, her face getting a faraway look. "He just was so _nice_ about it. Said he was _proud_ of me."

After a moment, Sharon smiled back. "I'm happy for you, Amy," she said, and meant it. And just to make Amy feel better about that dry comment a moment ago, Sharon added, "Sounds like you get quite a view when he takes you to the pool, though, huh?"

Amy grinned, laughing a little. "You have _no_ idea, Sharon."

Sharon just smiled again, and they went on talking- mostly about Mark- as the shopping trip continued. Outwardly, Sharon responded to Amy's glowing comments and praise about Mark as favourably as she could without feeling like too much of a liar. Privately, though, Sharon wondered. She had known about Mark ever since the arrogant, auburn-haired little jock-king walked into his new junior high school acting like he had a ten-inch cock and the biggest "guns" in the school.

Henry Evans started acting just the same soon after, and his prowess in athletics swept into far more games than just soccer. Then Henry and his brother got invited to a seniors-only party after winning that big state-championship game. Both had gotten jaw-droppingly lucky, each having his first time with a senior cheerleader upstairs in the hosting senior's house. The awed, gushing testimony of the senior girls to their friends, and Henry and Mark's bigger-and-badder-than-ever bragging at school the next day confirmed everything, and the Evans brothers were propelled to legendary status forever afterwards.

Sharon had watched as "Creepy Henry" went away, and one of the biggest playboys in the school swiftly took his place. Suddenly Henry Evans, a rich, blonde little creep who seemed to none-too-secretly hate everyone around him but his parents, was desired by every girl Sharon knew. He had his pick of Chamberlain's popular girls, and took great pleasure in enjoying more than a few. Mark was exactly the same; if anything, his appetite for sex was even more insatiable. The playboy life the brothers lived awed boys and girls alike, but for Sharon, it was precisely the reason she had never liked either of them. Yes, they were good looking, charming, and rich, but they clearly believed that as boys, they had an entitlement to using girls just to make their balls happy on Friday nights. Sharon found it repulsive to think of Mark Evans pressuring her to let him fuck her silly every weekend, and secretly was fearful of what might happen if Amy continued down her current path.

But… Amy did seem very sure. She wasn't an idiot, and unlike that cold-hearted slut Lisa Doyle, who had fucked her way to the top of the social food-chain and was actually kind of proud of it, Amy had a heart. She was a nice girl, and smart, too. Sharon trusted Amy's judgment, and in her comments about Mark, Amy really did seem truly sure of herself.

So, what if she was right?

That was, what if Mark Evans really _had_ reacted to Amy's information the way she said he did?

Well, maybe he really _had_ changed. Mark had doubtlessly slept with enough girls by now to make a Hollywood star jealous, but he was nothing if not intelligent. He knew what he was doing, and really did seem able to be kind and sensitive if he wanted to. Maybe Amy was right, and Mark really had changed for his latest girlfriend- the first cheerleader he'd ever dated, most likely, who wasn't eager to spread her legs for him. Maybe Mark was beginning to learn that there was more to relationships than that, and Amy was just the lucky girl who'd encouraged him to make the change.

_If Mark really does love Amy enough to accept her decision_, Sharon thought, _I won't hold his past against him_.

But even so, it was worrisome how head-over-heels Amy's love for Mark clearly was. She adored him, even worshipped the sight of him shirtless like all his other girlfriends had. And, without fail, Mark had convinced them that seeing him naked was the only way to go, and from there just used them for hot, pleasurable Friday and Saturday nights until he got bored. The way Mark- and Henry- just dumped girls as if they were used tissues was sickening. It was wrong.

The last thing Sharon Hunter wanted was to see her best friend get hurt. That was the bottom line here. And while Sharon hoped and believed that Mark really was starting to change, his track record stood against him pretty solidly. Sharon just hoped that heartbreak wasn't as disturbingly likely for Amy as it seemed.

**XX**

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Mark asked, raising his voice a little as Henry gunned the Hummer's massive diesel engine through a turn.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Henry mimicked, speaking in a girly, high-pitched voice. He repeated it once more, then threw a glance at his brother. "That's you. That's how you sound, Mark."

"Bullshit," Mark declared, flipping his Zippo lighter open and closed. "All I said was, we're not 21. Maybe we should think about this. What if they call the cops?"

"Who's gonna?" Henry said with a shrug. "The sailors won't wanna admit they got their asses kicked by a couple of high school students, and the guy owning the place can't call 911 on us without admitting he let us inside in the first place. Either way, we win."

Mark considered this, nodding as if in thoughtful approval. "We should probably avoid killing any of them, though."

"What a goddamn tragedy that would be," Henry said. "Isn't that what those fuckers want? To die for their country and all that shit?"

"I'm not sure bar fights is what they have in mind," Mark said. "Besides- it could draw attention we don't want. Somebody would definitely call the cops then. They'd have to."

"Okay, okay," Henry said, guiding the massive Hummer into a parking space and halting it in the parking lot of Mulligan's. "We won't kill 'em, all right?"

Looking over at his brother, Mark just grinned. "That's right. No promises, though."

Henry laughed as he shut off the Hummer, opening the driver's door. "No promises," he agreed.

The brothers had done their homework well; before leaving to drive south into Portland, Henry had checked a few places, made a couple of phone calls, and confirmed two important things. First, that Mulligan's was a bar still operating in the Portland area, directly south of the suburb of Rockbridge. Second, that it was a fairly regular spot for sailors coming ashore from Portsmouth Naval Shipyard to visit. Having not had a good fight in ages, Henry and Mark had jointly agreed that heading on down to Mulligan's would be a great way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

If a group of sailors happened to be there, Henry and Mark would pick a fight with them. One way or another, one of them would find a way to make it happen, and from there the plan was simple. Henry and Mark would each pick a target, raise their fists, move in swiftly and go to town. And if there weren't any sailors there today? Not a problem. There were plenty of other days to come by Mulligan's, and it was far from the only bar in Portland.

The two teenagers moved towards the front door of the bar with the same casual, arrogant stride they had walking through the halls of their high school. Henry cocked his head to the right as the bouncer moved to block their entry, his very posture a challenge. Neither the blond nor his brother appeared to be worried, uncertain or hesitant, as most teenagers attempting to get into a bar would have been. Instead, Henry in particular looked annoyed at the bouncer for merely getting in his way, and impatient to have this inconvenient waste of time brought to an end.

The large, muscular guard noticed this, and was somewhat impressed. He knew these two weren't 21- you could just tell, after doing what he did for enough years- but their confident, even arrogant stride and expressions gave some doubt. They might- just might- have been young college students. But whenever there was uncertainty- or even if there wasn't- that was what ID was for.

But as they got closer, the guard noticed something else. It was cool enough out at night that a lot of people were beginning to bring out the heavy jackets, and at a distance, the guard had assumed that was the case with these two. But now he could tell for sure- those were light jackets. The size and formidable look to their arms and shoulders; that was muscle. And the guard noticed something else right then, something that jarred him like he hadn't thought possible.

He was looking up at these two teenagers! Not by much, maybe, but that was something he knew he'd never seen before. Not with half the grown men coming to Mulligan's did the guard find himself looking anything but down.

**XX**

"You guys got your licenses with you?" the older man challenged the teenagers as they drew close, his arms folded over his chest as he stood between them and the door. "I'm gonna need to see some ID."

Henry and Mark briefly- just for a moment- glanced at each other. They had their licenses with them, sure enough. But it would be better, all things considered, if nobody ever saw them up close and got a chance to learn their names.

"Well," Henry said calmly as he and his brother held up their driver's licenses briefly and then put them away, "I got my license, and my brother does too. But we were thinking you could just, you know, let us in without all the formalities."

"No way, man," the bouncer said, shaking his head. "If you're trying to get past me without telling me you're under 21, don't bother. I knew that the second you two got out of that fuckin' truck." The big man threw a glance at the hulking, silent Hummer sitting some twenty feet away. Who even had the goddamn money to spend on something like that? Next thing you knew, Ford would start making a "civilian version" of the M60 Patton tank.

"I see," Henry said, a smirk beginning to show on his face. He reached into his wallet, taking out three bills. "Why don't you, me, and Ben Franklin keep this a secret?"

The bouncer had the bills pressed in his hand before he even knew what was happening. His eyes widened in surprise, and for once he was unsure of what to say. It wasn't that nobody had ever tried bribing him before; that by itself was far from knew. But this had to be the first time- it was, beyond a doubt- that someone so young had tried something so blatantly illegal, and been so damn brazen about it.

Henry, for his part, just smirked a little more, and then grinned as the bouncer reluctantly stood aside. He obviously didn't like it, but the fact that he wasn't in the way anymore said all Henry and Mark needed to know. They were through the door to Mulligan's. They were in.

There were no military personnel in the bar when Henry and Mark first got there; they had to wait about twenty minutes before a group of them showed up. In the intervening time, Henry downed a few beers after playing a similar let's-keep-this-a-secret game with the bartender, and Mark took a handful of shots of vodka. Neither of them got drunk, or even especially close, but they wanted to be able to act like it if need be. After all, picking a fight in a bar was much easier to do when you'd had a couple of drinks.

Some eight Navy sailors, all of them in the brown-black-green BDU's that nearly every service seemed to be using right now, showed up, each making his way up to the bar and ordering drinks the minute they arrived. Seven of them occupied a large table while one sat nearby at the end of the bar, ordering more drinks when necessary and passing them over to the table.

Fifteen minutes after their arrival- once both of the Evans brothers had witnessed the sailors having downed some drinks of their own- Mark started to get up, throwing a sly smirk to his brother. "Watch this," the auburn-haired teen said, swaying just a bit as he stood. "It's gonna blow you're fuckin' mind."

"I bet," Henry said calmly, taking another shot. "Fucking sailors. We oughta run the fuckers back to their damn ships."

"Just wait," Mark laughed, grabbing up a beer and making his way down the bar.

Perhaps a minute later, the auburn-haired teenager, dressed in an expensive wine-red polo and jeans, staggered his way up the bar and quite purposefully bumped into the lone sailor sitting at the end, slopping most of his beer on the both of them.

"Aw, man," Mark said sarcastically, "Sorry, man."

"Get outta here, kid," the big Navy man said, grabbing a towel and wiping at himself. "I'm the only damn guy down here, just go back where you came from."

"Back where _I_ came from?" Henry's voice said, cold and sarcastic. "I was gonna say you and your fucking squid buddies might want to do the same thing." He had silently come up behind his brother and now stood right beside him, a malicious smile on his face and a cold gleam in his eye.

"Yeah, yeah, dude," Mark said, giggling a little and suddenly banging his glass on the counter, spilling more of it around. "Squiddies like you's are nothin' but troubles. Why don't you just get outta Portland?"

"Don't bother me, you kids," the enlisted man grumbled. "I'm not in the mood for this crap."

"But. We. _Are_," Henry said, one word at a time, as if speaking to a child that was hard of hearing. "Isn't it obvious?"

A large hand suddenly shot out and gripped Henry by the front of his shirt, jerking him off his feet. In a second's time the blond teen found himself staring up at a sailor big enough to make the bouncer look like an accountant's aide. If he wasn't in the SEAL program at some point in his Navy career, he should have been. And right now, the man didn't look happy. Neither did the other six Navy enlisted men behind him, all of whom had gotten up and were looking irritably at Henry and Mark.

"Listen, kiddo," the big enlisted man growled, "I think you got a hearing problem. Get lost. Stop bothering me and my shipmates, or I'm gonna change your face. You got it?"

"Hey, sailor," the bartender called, "You wanna do that, just do it outside, okay? Otherwise somebody's payin' for whatever gets broke."

"Fine," the sailor called back. "Anything happens, it ain't gonna last long."

"Ain't," Henry laughed, not the least bit scared. "Ain't! That's a hoot! I sure do love me some KFC in the mornin's, when I-"

There was a loud, flat "whap" as the big sailor slapped Henry across the face. The teenager's head snapped back, and he tasted a hint of blood on his mouth. Touching a hand to his stinging cheek, Henry glared at the dark-haired man with the buzz cut, his good cheer vanishing for the first time. He also did something else, one simple movement. Henry got back on his feet.

It was right around then that there was a flicker of doubt in the powerfully-built sailor's eyes. A moment where, perhaps, instinct said real trouble was coming.

Something else was likely being noticed by the group of Navy men in Mulligan's around that time. That tall, cocky motherfucker with the smooth, pale face and nicely-cared-for blond hair- he stood eye-to-eye with the ex-SEAL. So did his auburn-haired friend, or sibling, or whatever he was. Grown men often found themselves looking up at this giant of a sailor- that these boys could even meet him at eye level was astounding.

Henry held out one hand, slowly lifting it away from the left side of his face. His eyes were wide, as if he was shocked anyone would even dare lay a hand on him. It wasn't so far from the truth. The sailors, meanwhile, were quickly getting over their surprise at the height and build of these two. They were just back from six months on a submarine in the Atlantic, and wanted these cocky little shits out of the way.

"You shouldn't have done that," Henry said, a mocking smile on his face. The big sailor bellowed in rage, finally having had enough of this. Just as he prepared to lay into Henry- who was ready and then some to fight back- a voice shouted over the general background noise of the bar.

"HEY!"

The sailors, Henry, and the other men in the bar alike all paused, looking up at the other young man who'd come in with the blond teen. Well over six feet tall, he now towered over the room from where he stood atop the bar, hands on his hips and a dark glare on his face.

"Who's the roughest, toughest son of a bitch in this bar?" Mark barked, his eyes scanning over the sailors looking up at him. They all looked stunned for the moment- shocked that some high school kid was even daring to mess with them. They were a little surprised, as well, that the auburn-haired kid abruptly seemed sober again.

"I said," Mark called when nobody answered him, "Who's the toughest motherfucker here?"

Turning away from Henry, the big ex-SEAL folded his arms over his massive chest and glared up at Mark. "I am," he said, in a voice that left no room for discussion, argument or dissent.

"You are?" Mark asked, and the big sailor just nodded. "That's right," he said.

Mark nodded, half to himself. "All right," the auburn-haired teen said calmly, "You'll do."

Then Mark dove off the bar, head-first for the sailor who had answered him. He struck the other man hard and they both went down, kicking and punching. Henry lashed out with his feet and collapsed two of the other sailors to the floor, swiftly getting up and heading for the others with his fists raised and a smile on his face. "Let the games begin, pencildicks," Henry laughed, not even bothered as a fist clocked him in the jaw. He returned the blow to the sender, and with judiciously calculated force one Navy man already looked to be out of the fight. Henry moved forward and waded in, his heart singing with joy as a battle erupted around him. This was gonna be fun.

"No karate this time," Mark remembered Henry saying earlier today, when the idea of coming by a bar had first come up. "Let's give 'em a chance."

"Fine," Mark had said with a grin, "We'll just beat the hell out of them the hard way."

Mark wasn't long in getting up, having beaten the ex-SEAL to a draw for the moment. He looked up and saw his brother badly outnumbered, and swiftly charged the other sailors Henry was fighting. Fists, feet and the occasional stool flew, and for every blow Mark or his brother took they dished out a dozen in return. Black eyes, cuts and bruises began to mount, and Mark knew his brother's heart was singing the same tune as his right now- a song of love for battle, love for carnage and chaos, for raising hell and putting down the pain just for the fun of it. The fight went on for several minutes- neither Mark nor Henry paused to check their watch- and while not much of the bar furniture got broken, a lot of it went flying. Mark kicked one sailor- the runt of the group, he was nonetheless a determined fighter- so hard that the young man crashed backwards into a chair, both of them toppling over and out of the fight.

The auburn-haired teen laughed, his heart pounding and his fists good and sore as he waded once more into the melee.

He was still laughing when the ex-SEAL rolled to his feet, got up behind him, picked up a chair and brought it down on Mark's head.

Mark didn't say anything. The lights just went out, and out they were before Mark even hit the floor.

**XX**

The auburn-haired teenager, the one whose unworthy parents had named him Mark Evans, fought his way back to consciousness with a bitter, furious defiance. How-how had they done this to him? How had he gotten knocked out? No one did that to him. NO one!

Mark fought to stand, but his legs wouldn't respond. Every inch of him either ached or wasn't responding, and neither arrangement was working well. He had to get up. He had to fight! He was missing out on the fun, and Henry might need him.

Looking up from the floor, though, Mark saw something that stunned even him.

Henry Evans, calm and ice-cold Henry, was crouched low as he stood over the overturned table near his fallen brother. A glass bottle with the end smashed off was in his right hand, a pocket knife was in the left, and a twisted, horrible grimace of hate was on his face. Henry's blue eyes were alive with unbridled, incomparable rage, and he was slowly moving in on the sailors, half of whom were down and visibly out for the fight. The other four had gathered to face him, but with their ex-SEAL shipmate down with more than a few bruises, they didn't look so happy about their odds now. It had been hard enough bringing down the first of these ridiculously-strong teenagers, but the second was truly pissed now. The fight was only going to get tougher.

To their credit, though, not one of them was backing away. They had fallen brothers to protect, too- and that meant standing their ground no matter what this furious blond teenager ended up doing.

"You know what your mistake was?" Henry hissed, his voice pure venom. "It was hurting my brother. I was gonna let it all go until then. Now I'm gonna have to kill you."

"You can't take _all_ of us, man," one sailor declared. "You _want _us to hurt you, too?"

Henry just laughed. "I want you to _try_."

Mark, still fighting to get to his feet, remembered well how little his beloved brother cared about his own safety. The blond took care of himself pretty well these days, and hadn't talked of toying with suicide or death in years. But left to his own devices, Henry much didn't care if he lived or died. He just wanted to have fun. Today, though, was different. The hateful, snarling look Henry had, the cold laughter in his voice- it was hungry. Henry didn't just want revenge; he wanted blood, and a lot of it. He didn't even look like a teenage boy anymore, not a normal one. Henry was so utterly furious he looked like he'd gone feral.

The auburn-haired teen intensified his battle to get up, and he began to succeed just as a double-barrel shotgun's breech snapped shut across the bar from him.

"All right, fellas," the middle-aged man tending the bar said, forced calm in his voice. "That's about enough."

Henry's eyes flicked over towards the older man, and the jagged-ended bottle and pocket knife turned in his hands. He was ready to gut this one, too. Gut him like a fucking fish.

From the tension in Henry's left arm, Mark could see the pocket knife being readied for a throw. Knowing his brother's deadly accuracy with knives, the bartender would be dead before he fired, even if he tried.

And the anger. There was real fury in Henry's blue eyes.

The deep, burning hate in Henry flared then, and his heart was a drumbeat, howling for revenge. He would kill every man in this bar, gut them and lap at the blood flowing from their bleeding corpses. He would smash every piece of glass in the building, pull Mark from the mess and toss a match on the whole damn thing. He would burn down the goddamn fucking bar and then Portland, and from there the whole fucking world. He'd get them all! He'd get every one of those Navy fuckers who'd ever dared hurt Mark, and then-

"Henry," Mark blurted, "I'm okay!"

It was a lie, technically. Mark's head hurt like a bitch, and his muscles, though happy at the workout, needed a rest at least. But Henry's head whipped left to face him, and Mark could have cried with joy when he saw the look of relief on Henry's face.

"Mark!"

In an instant the pocket knife was replaced in Henry's left pocket, and the smashed bottle dropped to the floor and broke a second time. The blond teen threw Mark's right arm around his shoulder, grunting with the effort as he helped another three-hundred-pound teenage titan stand. When Mark could stand on his own, he gave Henry a nod, and the two faced the carnage they'd created together. Mark spotted a bottle of vodka on the floor, still holding about half its capacity. He snatched it up, drank some, and passed Henry the rest.

Casually dropping the bottle after emptying it, Henry ignored the tinkle of the breaking glass. Into the suddenly-returned silence, Henry laughed. "Well," he said with remarkable calm, "We're gonna be going now. You Navy boys have fun. Be sure to clean up after yourselves, and remember not to pick fights with Portland men next time."

Mark winked at the sailors, then joined his brother in turning to leave.

They both broke up laughing when they got in the Hummer outside, a little sore and bruised but beyond a doubt having enjoyed the experience. As Henry got the truck going and began to move away as the bar's patrons began clearing up the mess, Mark looked at his brother curiously.

"What would you have done if I hadn't gotten up?" Mark asked, remembering the look he'd seen on Henry's face.

"Killed them all," Henry said calmly. "Then their families, for good measure."

"Even the kids?" Mark asked, with mock dismay.

"I'd slit their throats, and eat their intestines like link sausages," Henry said, still with that eerie calm that no one but Mark seemed to appreciate. "Not necessarily in that order."

"You'd do that just because one of those fuckers hit me with a chair?"

"Yes," Henry said firmly. "A blow to the back of the neck can kill, and those losers had better be glad it didn't."

"I'm sure they are," Mark said, giggling as a bit of the beer came back to him. Henry tried to scowl, thought of telling Mark that his way of starting the fight had been reckless, even by his standards. But in the end, Henry started laughing too. They cheerfully recounted the events at the bar on the way home, and once back in the driveway fiercely embraced before heading inside.

"I'll kill them all if they hurt you, Mark," Henry said through tears. "They'll be sorry they were ever born."

"I know," Mark said, too moved to say much. "Thanks."

Henry ended the moment by sucker-punching Mark in the abs just then, though, and they had a brief but fierce fist-fight right there in the driveway. Wrestling on the pavement, the two teens exchanged such pleasantries as promising to rape each other's girlfriends once the fight was over. As usual, though, Henry and Mark lost interest in the fight as suddenly as they'd started it, and got up, brushed themselves off, and headed inside to clean up for dinner. They both grinned widely as they took off their shirts upstairs, comparing the minor bruises and cuts to their powerful, muscular frames. The aches would be gone within a day, even with what their bodies had just had to endure. The intense, merciless workouts Henry and Mark put themselves to had prepared them well for today, and their bodies had performed perfectly. Both teens took their showers and headed downstairs to help their parents with dinner, each helping fabricate a story about what they'd "actually" done after church this morning.

Mark grinned at his brother at one moment when their parents weren't looking, and Henry grinned back. Their parents bought these lies so easily these days- after all these years of practice, it didn't even feel like Mark or Henry was trying. All in all, both boys felt quite pleased with themselves.

It was an afternoon well spent.

Later that day, the two stayed up talking in Mark's room an hour after their parents had gone to bed. Mark eagerly filled Henry in on his progress with Julie, and on Amy's still-standing resolution to keep her legs shut. Henry suggested setting up another party; with the big Homecoming game coming up soon, there'd be plenty enough reason to celebrate after Chamberlain's victory.

It would give Mark a chance to work on wearing down Amy- that, or enjoy some other pretty girl instead. Not wanting the conversation to be only about him, Mark congratulated his brother on having Lisa so completely under his thumb; Henry laughed, saying it hadn't even been much of a challenge.

Lastly, Mark mentioned what an arrogant little shit Andrew Cadiz was becoming since making the Varsity football team, and how Chris Marshal was pretty much waiting to be initiated into the group at this point.

"If Cadiz fucks up," Henry said calmly, "We'll put him in his place." He paused, then got an idea. "You think our boy Marshal has gotten laid yet?"

Mark laughed. "No."

"Well," Henry said thoughtfully, "Why don't we help him out with that at the next party? That kid will follow us around like a fuckin' puppy if we do that. We get him his first pussy, he'll commit murder for us."

"You wanna kill him sometime?" Mark asked. "I mean, when he's not useful anymore."

"We could," Henry said, thinking about it for a moment. "But it's not really about Chris Marshal any more than it is about strangling one of those freshman who gets us lunch money."

"After taking it from the losers?" Mark grinned, and Henry nodded. "It's about opportunity, Mark. Why'd we off Alice Davenport?"

The auburn-haired teenager's face darkened; even now the memory of her annoying, ever-so-sympathetic manner rankled him. "She pissed me off."

Henry nodded, holding up a finger. "There you are, Mark. She pissed you off. She did something where you, and me, had to make sure to get her. We can't just go after anybody we want right now; too many morons watching."

Mark frowned, not exactly thrilled at what he was hearing. "So, what's that mean? Can't we still kill who we want?"

The blond just smiled. That warm, kind smile that never quite touched his eyes. It did now, of course- but only when he was looking at Mark, his brother.

"It's not about what we can and can't do, Mark," Henry said softly, light from his eyes dancing in the dark. "It's about opportunity."

"So if we get a chance, we're taking it, whoever it is," Mark said with a smile.

Henry smiled and nodded. "That's right."

Mark held out a hand to his brother, and they shook hands, speaking one word at the same time.

"Deal."


	23. Chapter 23- Monday & Checkmate

**Chapter XXIII: Monday & Checkmate**

* * *

Julie Michaels had hoped that the passage of the day after, of some additional hours to think and begin to forget, would have allowed her to work out a plan and begin to reestablish a sense of peace. To restore order in her life, and put the balance back in things. The way it was supposed to be. Seventeen-year-old boys weren't supposed to kiss their chemistry teachers, and the teacher was most definitely not supposed to secretly enjoy it. This wasn't right, and Julie had been praying that by Monday she'd have some of this worked out.

She didn't.

On Monday morning, Julie was nothing short of a nervous wreck. She needed to tell Mark that this had to end, that what happened between them on Saturday could never happen again. But what if he'd already revealed everything to his brother, and gone right on to tell all his friends? Word travelled fast in high school, and for a teenage boy, kissing an attractive girl, let alone a woman and a teacher, was big news.

And on top of all that, Julie was almost literally twitching in fear. She just couldn't shake off the terrible feeling that Principal Decauter already knew, and that he was just biding his time before calling Julie up to his office and firing her.

The only hope she could find, the only consolation there seemed to be, was that Mark had always seemed better than that. Julie hoped, fervently prayed, that Mark had not told his friends, and that he was mature enough to keep this between them. It was a naïve hope, however, and hopelessly so. However intelligent and mature Mark might have seemed, he was still a teenager. A boy. Staking the survival of her entire career on a seventeen-year-old's maturity was asking too much of him.

The morning classes passed slowly, but Julie got through them. She only forgot what she was talking about once or twice, and only in one class did she start off with the previous hour's notes. But aside from stumbling a little here and there, Julie made it. Small consolation, however. Mark Evans' class- Advanced Chemistry- was next.

Julie ate nothing at lunch. She just sat in the teachers' break room and drank some water from the bottle she'd brought, not even daring to try eating something, for fear that she'd become so nervous she'd vomit and just heave it back up. An oddly comforting thought- that Mark, if he only knew, would gently and softly urge her to eat for her own sake- just shamed Julie more. Here she was, getting herself so wrapped up around a boy she was risking her career on, merely by kissing him, and still Julie was having such genuinely romantic thoughts about him.

It just wasn't _fair_.

The only hope Julie had from her morning classes was that, to her surprise, none of the students seemed to be looking at her and whispering, or indeed behaving in any way different from usual. Maybe her hopes were true. Maybe Mark really hadn't told everybody. It was the only hope Julie had left, because if not her job was gone already.

But it was a small help was 5th Hour drew nearer. What if Mark was simply taking his time before dropping the bombshell, and instead chose to make a choice remark in the middle of class? What if, God forbid, he tried to wink at her or flirt in some manner?

It didn't take long before the time for speculation ran out. The bell rang out in the hallway for the end of lunch hour, and the other teachers in the break room began picking up their things and heading for their classrooms. Julie did the same, however reluctantly, feeling like she was watching someone else.

After all, things like this happened in the movies, in corny romance novels or something. How many young high school teachers ever let themselves think such appropriate thoughts, be put in such compromising situations, and then actually kiss teenage high school students? Julie had no idea, but her guess was that the answer was something to the tune of "not many". Her professionalism and self-discipline had failed her at the moment she needed it most, and now Mark Evans, a seventeen-year-old boy who just didn't know any better, was holding Julie's career in his hands.

She didn't like the feeling.

**XX**

5th Hour was soon going to start- after a moment Julie remembered this was her Advanced Chemistry class. She glanced up from her desk at the students as they came in, hoping she could glance down just in time to avoid looking directly at Mark. Julie failed, of course- Mark walked in just as she was looking at the doorway to the classroom. His jeans, his sneakers, his slightly-too-small blue polo shirt were all new, clean, and beautiful. Then Julie's eyes started taking in the eye-candy of Mark's sculpted, muscular torso, and she forced herself to look anywhere else but there.

That just led Julie to look up at Mark's face, though, smooth and handsome as ever. She searched briefly for something- anything- to tell her that the past weekend had all been a dream, that she hadn't given her future over to the whims of a high school boy. But Mark, whatever he knew, didn't say anything. He saw Julie looking at him- which made her wince horribly inside- but just nodded politely and took his seat.

Right there in the front row.

Julie's catalog of verbal stumblings and mental errors began the second the bell rang for 5th Hour to begin, when she told the class to open their books to Page 497- the exact first page of the Chemistry book's glossary and index. Julie corrected herself, telling them to go to the start of Chapter Four, but that didn't help either.

They were on Chapter Five this week and everybody knew it.

"Are you all right, Miss Michaels?" John LaFleur asked, sitting in the front row to Mark's left, with a frown of concern and confusion on his face. Briefly, all Julie could think about was what an absolutely classically French name LaFleur was, and how delicate- almost flower-like, even- John seemed with his slightly pinkish skin, pale dyed-blonde hair, and a middle name that was none other than Myron. Where did parents get ideas like that-?

"Miss Michaels?" John asked again, and she started, not realizing she hadn't given him a response yet.

"Yes, John, I'm fine, thank you," Julie finally managed to say. "I appreciate your concern, but I'm fine."

She knew she wasn't. Worse, Julie had a pretty certain feeling that neither John nor anyone else in the class believed her.

Mark, though, said nothing about any of this. Instead, he just politely raised his hand and said, "I think we are on Chapter Five, now, Miss Michaels. We did just finish Four last week, though."

"Easy to make a mistake on that," John added, ever the best buddy of the school's king jock. Julie wondered if John knew something about last weekend. What had Mark told him?

"Thank you, Mark," Julie said, trying not to show her relief. "Can you help out your classmates one more time, and tell them what page we're starting on today?" Julie was mostly asking this of him because she had no idea herself. No page or chapter numbers were coming to her today. Nothing was. Just Mark. As if to illustrate this point further, while Mark told his classmates what page they were on and Julie mechanically opened her teacher's edition book to the same page, she kept stealing glances at the front row.

My _God_, was Mark good-looking.

It wasn't just the muscle, though there was plenty of it. It was how perfectly shaped and proportioned it was- like one of those flawless, handsome and muscular Greek or Roman men you'd see as statues in a museum.

No! She _had_ to stop that. Julie finally managed to locate her notes and begin the day's lecture, stumbling verbally only a few more times as the class went on. She resolutely continued, however, refusing to lose her composure or admit defeat on anything.

But she kept stealing glances at the front row. Admiring Mark's classically handsome features, that perfect, muscular athlete's physique. Once, Julie actually dropped her book when she suddenly began to fantasize about what Mark would look like naked.

The auburn-haired teen, on the other hand, didn't make a single inappropriate move. His behavior was nothing at all what Julie expected from a lovestruck teenager. Mark's voice, gaze, actions throughout the class- not one of those things even hinted that something inappropriate had happened between himself and Julie on Saturday. Everything he did was normal, perfectly ordinary, and for one brief, feverish moment Julie wondered if she was going crazy.

Had all of this been some incredibly vivid dream- one so intense Julie could no longer distinguish between fantasy and reality? It was impossible to say. The forty-five minutes of class gradually came to an end, and Julie could scarcely have been more grateful.

After class, Mark didn't go away.

He had more questions, insightful and intelligent as always. Mark had been Julie's best student, right from the start of the year. There was just no getting around it- he simply was. Julie was nervous to be alone in a room with him, however, and the thrill of being so close to such an attractive young man didn't help. Julie felt a brief tremor of that incredible sexual excitement she'd gotten on Saturday. It was instinct- it had to be. The drive to continue the species, to have children with the Alpha Male. Which Mark most certainly was- him, and his brother Henry.

Julie had to make an incredible effort to keep her eyes off places they didn't belong while Mark talked, and she only half-heard him when Mark said he'd like to come by her classroom again after school, as there were more questions he'd like to ask.

The blonde science teacher agreed, sighing in relief as Mark left and the classroom was finally empty again. Gradually, her sense of self returned, and by the time 6th Hour had started, Julie had her mind made up once again. She would calmly and firmly talk Mark down, tell him his hormones had just gotten out of control. What happened this past weekend could- would- never happen again, and that was the end of it. It _had_ to be.

**XX**

When Mark did come into the room, right at 3:55PM- ten minutes after the last class ended- Julie saw him as he always was. Calm, confident, his stride steady and assured. Whatever they were going to talk about in a few moments, the auburn-haired teen was clearly not worried about it.

Julie, who began sweating a little the second Mark entered the room, wished she could say the same about herself. Holding onto her composure was- once again- going to be a struggle.

It wasn't a great sign that, as Mark sat down on top of his desk in the front row and looked calmly at her, Julie wondered if Mark had been with a girl before. For some reason, the thought made her slightly jealous. Julie was willing to bet that Mark Evans was a boy who had a lot of sex. She was also willing to bet that the girls who'd been lucky enough to get picked had struggled just as much to resist Mark as she was doing right now.

This time, though, the outcome was going to be different. It needed to be; Julie had too much to lose if it wasn't.

"Mark," Julie began with forced calm, just as assertively as she could manage, "What happened on Saturday wasn't right. It wasn't appropriate, and it can't happen anymore."

The auburn-haired teen, still sitting on top of his desk, just looked at her. He didn't say anything.

Taking a breath, Julie went on, "I can't put all the blame on you. We _both_ did something we shouldn't have. But I've just got to tell you it was wrong. It can't happen again."

The blonde teacher fell silent, feeling some relief at what she'd said. The truth was all she'd spoken, and as intelligent as Mark clearly was, he had to respect that. Surely this whole thing would be over soon.

But Mark didn't say anything. He just sat there, looking at her in that peculiar way of his. She didn't see anger, or hurt, or confusion. Nothing like that. Mark's blue eyes just kept gazing into Julie's, and the sight of it threatened to drive her mad.

"Mark," Julie said carefully, "I need you to say something. I know you heard me."

"You're so beautiful, Miss Michaels," Mark said quietly, and she blushed crimson. It just sounded so wonderful when he told her that.

"And you're smart, too," Mark said. "You're _real_ smart. The most intelligent woman I've ever met, and I don't know if I can say how much I care about you. But I'm going to try."

"Did you even hear me, Mark?" Julie said, startled at what she was hearing.

"I hear every word you say," Mark responded, smiling slightly. "Why wouldn't I? I love the sound of your voice too much." He paused, then went on, "I know there'll be problems to deal with. Difficulties for us to get past, of we're gonna be together. But I'm worth it to you- I know I am. And you're worth it to me."

"I'm a teacher, Mark!" Julie blurted out, wondering if the both of them weren't going crazy, instead of just her. "You're a student! What you're talking about is totally inappropriate."

"You're a woman, and I'm a man," Mark countered calmly. "That's all that matters. And more importantly, we're right for each other. We both know we are."

Julie couldn't think of anything to say to Mark. She just stared, sitting behind her desk and silently marveling that a teenager- any teenager- could be so damn smart.

"I never thought this could happen," the auburn-haired teen said reflectively. "I really didn't. But things just fell into place, one by one. I got Saturday evening free, your car broke down- it was like fate to me."

Looking Julie right in the eyes, Mark asked, "Why else would this have happened? How would it all have fallen in place like this if it wasn't meant to be?"

Julie was out of things to say. She felt like her entire world was turned upside down and sideways, everything she'd ever thought to be impossible overturned by a teenage boy. By this wonderful young man who wanted nothing but the best for her. Why couldn't she have met someone like _this_ in high school? Where had he _been_ all her life?

Mark got up off his desk, walking around to the left side of Julie's. Unsure of what exactly she was doing, Julie rose to meet him. She couldn't have taken her eyes off him now if she wanted to, and she kept looking at his neck, his arms, his chest- and wondering what it all looked like when he was in the shower, or in bed with some lucky girl. There was so much passion in him, Julie could all but see it radiating off Mark, right there in the classroom.

The auburn-haired teen approached slowly, almost with caution, until he was just a few feet away. Then, in a moment's time, he was close enough to kiss Julie- and she felt her will to resist letting him do it again crumbling fast. This was too fast, too intense, too inappropriate- it was too much, period. But Julie just couldn't get enough of it.

Looking calmly at her, a look of real kindness in his eyes, Mark held out his left hand, brushing Julie's cheek. By instinct, simple instinct and nothing else, she leaned into his touch, closing her eyes for a moment. She felt warm, protected- safe. It was a good feeling, and Julie kept her eyes closed as she savored it.

When she opened them, Mark had bent down to look at her- they were standing at eye level now.

Julie's pulse quickened, and she found she had neither the strength nor the air to speak. She just froze.

He kissed her.

Not like on Saturday, though; not the same as that. This time, the teenager called Mark Evans just gave Julie the gentlest of pecks on the lips before drawing back.

Julie's mind went blank. The whirlwind of confusion, of doubt and uncertainty, that had been going on in her mind went away. Without even taking a second to think about it, Julie reached out and clasped Mark's head- that gorgeous, wonderful auburn hair- with both hands. She pulled him close again, closed her eyes and kissed him just as deeply as she could. He opened his mouth and their tongues met, and Julie could not have felt more happy. This was the best feeling she'd ever had in the world.

And Mark, at that very moment, was feeling pretty good too. After all his hard work, all of which had paid off, Julie didn't even suspect anything. She thought it was all fate, rather than Mark's orchestration of events. That was just how he wanted it. Mark, enjoying the kiss too, closed his eyes for a moment.

_Checkmate_.

**XX**

It was four-fifteen in the afternoon when Julie had finally given up on her plans to talk down Mark. That was the very moment, the very hour, when she'd finally given in and accepted the truth- that this was meant to happen. That it was fate.

From that moment on, Julie's heart had never stopped racing, and her head had never stopped spinning. She remembered closing the door to her classroom, though most of the students and staff were gone by then anyway. She remembered making out with Mark, getting so close to him she could feel that male indication of sexual excitement- and not caring.

Somehow- somehow- the two had managed to separate, though Julie could remember actually hinting to Mark that there was a supply room connected to the classroom, and they might have some privacy back there. Mark just laughed and told her no- he'd see her in a few minutes at home.

That drive home was the toughest of Julie's life. Her emotions were in an uproar, her adrenaline was running high, and she had to interrupt all of it. There was something outrageously unfair about that, not the least of which was that Julie could barely concentrate on her driving. All she could think about- all she could see- was Mark, Mark, Mark. She'd never met such a magnificent specimen of a male in her life- and she'd never wanted anyone more.

Once she got home, though, Julie parked her car in the street. It was only logical- Mark couldn't just leave his Jeep in the driveway, where someone might recognize the vehicle or guess who it belonged to. No. Julie would wait in her living room window, and go to the garage to open the door when Mark got here.

She didn't have to wait very long. Just a couple minutes after her arrival, Julie spotted a shiny, dark metallic-red Grand Cherokee coming up the street. Obviously recalling the house from just two days ago, Mark slowed and turned, approaching the driveway. Maybe he'd guessed Julie's plan, having seen the black Topaz at the side of the street.

Waving from the living room window, Julie hurried to the garage and activated the door. It rattled and squeaked as it went up- the rental house's previous inhabitant had not bothered to put any oil on the track in a while, it seemed- but went up sure enough. Mark's Jeep moved forward into the garage, the powerful V8 growling, then shut off.

What happened next was all a blur for Julie. She didn't know how it was for Mark, but guessed it was something similar. The instant Mark was out of the Jeep, Julie closed the garage door. He came around the front of the SUV, and they embraced. He kissed her, and it was like Saturday night all over again. Only this time it was better, because Julie was done worrying about whether this was right anymore. It was. She just knew it, and Mark did too. That was enough.

The two continued to make out, Mark caressing Julie's back and behind as she did the same for him. Mark managed to pause just long enough to say "Upstairs" and they slowly began making their way in that direction, losing clothes all the way. Mark was shirtless by the time they reached the kitchen, and Julie had only her bra on by the time they got to the stairs. When they finally got to the door to her bedroom, that was off too.

"I love you, Julie," Mark breathed as he kissed her chest, his tongue caressing her breasts. "I love you."

"I love you, Mark," Julie breathed back, sighing and enjoying every second of the auburn-haired teen's affections. This was just the foreplay- nothing real had even started yet- but Julie was turned on like she hadn't even thought possible. This was the best thrill she'd had in her life.

Suddenly Julie went on the offensive, and shoved Mark up against her dresser. He uttered a brief cry of surprise, but didn't complain. Not leaving him wondering long, Julie dropped to her knees and unbuckled Mark's belt. She hadn't done this for any boy she'd dated- not since her first good one, back in high school- but she wanted to do it for Mark. She knew this was something that made men like Mark very happy, and Julie wanted that for him. She wanted to make Mark happy.

When she dropped Mark's jeans to the floor, Julie's eyes widened. Mark's organ was… _large_. Would it- _fit_? Either in Julie's mouth, or… in her?

Swearing to do her best, Julie tried anyway. She wasn't the best judge of such things- she was hardly an expert on sex, period- but those low, happy sighs and moans that kept coming from Mark had to mean something. The way the auburn-haired teen kept sighing and leaning back, his head tilted up to the ceiling, had to be a sign she was doing it right.

When that was over, and Julie had cleaned up her face with a towel helpfully supplied by Mark, she rose and they started making out again, this time falling onto her bed. Mark was completely naked now, and it was just like she'd fantasized about all those times. He was _stunning_ to look at.

Wrapping his powerful arms around Julie's naked torso, Mark began kissing his way down to her belly, making her laugh as the feeling tickled her. Then he swept off Julie's belt, and her khakis soon joined the pile of clothes scattered around the floor.

For just a moment they paused. Julie pulled off her silk underwear, and Mark smiled at her. She smiled back.

Then he kissed her. She kissed him back, and broke away just long enough to ask a question.

"Have you ever done this before?" Julie breathed, laughing a little at her own question.

"Lots of times," Mark whispered back, smiling down at her. He leaned down and kissed Julie. "I'll be gentle."

He was, at least at first. Julie was awed, right away, at the power and stamina she could sense in him. Mark started out slow and gentle, and Julie clasped his back hard, gripping him as she fought to get used to his size. It hurt a little at first, and Mark seemed to sense that. But soon the pain faded, and all Julie felt was the thrill. The rubbing became good, delicious, and she asked him to do more. Mark obliged, and the pain came back as he picked up speed, but Julie didn't care. She was having sex with a _man_ for the first time, not some hormone-driven high school or college boy, and of course his size would take some getting used to.

The ecstatic feeling grew, and Julie started to gasp and cry out as it hit peaks where it was almost too much, and then it was too much. Mark, the sensitive and kind teenager that he was, stopped once and actually pulled out, concerned that he was hurting her. But Julie gripped his back and begged him to keep going- she didn't just want this. She _needed_ it.

Julie was not experienced, as Mark so clearly was, but neither was she a virgin. She'd slept with three boys before Mark, and never had it been anywhere near as good as this. She didn't even care that Mark had not so much as paused to put on a condom- maybe he didn't use them. And this felt so good, Julie didn't care about condoms a bit. Not at all.

Eventually the ecstasy reached a peak so high that Julie literally cried out, gripping Mark's muscular shoulders as he climaxed. She could still feel him inside her, but even that didn't matter right now. There were pills for that- a young man like Mark probably carried some all the time- and at this moment she could have cared less anyway. Incredible feelings of joy and pure, delicious ecstasy raced through Julie, and she sighed, kissing Mark happily as he pulled out and lay down beside her.

Julie went to sleep naked, snuggling up against Mark Evans' broad chest as he put his powerful, tree-trunk-thick arms around her. Her body felt young and happy like never before, and her heart finally slowed its pace as she closed her eyes, feeling calm, warm, and absolutely, truly safe.


	24. Chapter 24- Time Well Spent

**Chapter XXIV- Time Well Spent**

* * *

The Hummer was never a truck designed with civilian use in mind. Though actually a lightweight when compared to an M60 Patton tank, an M3 Bradley or the 5-ton model of the M-35 troop-carrier, the HMMWV or Humvee still managed to tower over everything else on the road. Inspired by the popularity of the Humvee on television during the Gulf War, the civilian-model Hummer was little different. It mounted A/C and power windows instead of Kevlar and a .50 caliber machine gun, gloss exterior paint instead of flat NATO black, brown and green, but aside from that was essentially unchanged.

Big, heavy, and more than just "expensive", the Hummer was actually proving a disappointment to even some celebrities, who found the truck adapted poorly to civilian life. It was big and imposing, yes, and its powerful diesel could move it swiftly anywhere the driver directed. But it was too big for the average garage filled up the left-to-right borders of a road lane or parking lot space completely. Massive blind spots on the side and rear made parking a pain, and the fact that even the wagon version only had seating for four was a letdown. And on top of it all, the enormous turbodiesel engine had little to keep its noise from barging into the passenger area, much as the truck imposed itself on the road.

Yes, aside from perhaps Arnold Schwarzenegger (who supposedly owned some ten Hummers), the enormous truck was a bit disappointing. The Hummer was too big, too loud, too expensive; even aside other large SUV's like the Ford Expedition and Chevrolet Suburban, it looked bulky and misplaced. This should have been no surprise, however, given what the original truck was meant for. It was created to transport soldiers swiftly into battle, and to keep them alive once there. It was meant to mount heavy machine guns, anti-tank and air-defense missile systems. Above all, the Humvee was meant to drive fast on any terrain, wage war, run things over, and just generally raise hell. In no way had its designers ever thought that some rich Americans would one day try driving it as a family vehicle, or as a personal one.

Henry Evans, however, was not at all disappointed with the Hummer. In fact, he was quite pleased. Its size suited him well, and the power it symbolized and wielded was a perfect fit for by far one of the tallest, strongest boys in the Class of 1999. While it was indeed massive, loud and difficult to park, Henry didn't mind. He didn't care if other drivers had to get out of his way before getting run over sometimes- that was what they should have been doing anyway.

And Henry had little concern for any issues with parking the Hummer. He'd park where he damn well pleased. It wasn't like anyone was about to give him a ticket! He and Mark were heroes in Rockbridge. They were putting all of Portland on the map, getting attention from the rest of the country in a big way. Nobody was about to give the Evans family grief over a few moving (or stationary) traffic violations.

And if they did? Henry hadn't needed to deal with the cops just yet, but right now, the way things were at Chamberlain High School, anybody who complained about the way Henry and his brother ran things got hit so bad, they never complained again. For now, it would be best to avoid encounters with the law. After all, Henry and his brother had an image to maintain, and even accusations or questionings could damage it. But if push came to shove, Henry and Mark would not be trifled with; not even by the police or courts. Any cops or judges who tried to make trouble for the Evans brothers would be dealt with, one way or the other. Period.

Henry was distantly aware Lisa was trying to get his attention, but he didn't care. After all, he hadn't started going out with Lisa Doyle because he loved to hear her _talk_.

He was sitting in the driver's seat of the huge black Hummer, driver's door open and the turbodiesel growling. The blond teenager was smoking a cigarette (his fifth today), and wishing he could slit some dork freshman's throat soon. He hadn't killed anybody in a while. Routine sex with an ever-increasingly-servile Lisa was keeping him happy, and fighting in that bar alongside Mark on Sunday had been the best time he'd had in weeks. But there just wasn't anything as sweet as killing somebody. Grabbing them from behind and breaking their neck, cutting their throat, or better yet, strangling them face-to-face and watching the light leave their eyes.

No. There just wasn't _anything_ like that.

Lisa said something. She was sitting in the passenger seat, and looked pretty good in those tight jeans, white Abercrombie t-shirt with a tan suede jacket over it. Of course, Henry thought as he took another drag while pointedly ignoring Lisa, I've always liked how she looked naked…

The blonde girl Henry was currently fucking said something again. Sighing irritably, Henry exhaled, took another long drag on the cigarette, then flicked it at a pair of freshmen football players who were just getting out to the parking lot. His aim was good- it caught one of them at the neck as they passed by- and the kid yelped as the burning tobacco singed his skin. He turned, starting to curse vengeance on whoever did this, but saw Henry, dropped his eyes and said nothing.

"Hey, dork," Henry called lazily, "Don't ever let me catch you parking your shit in the senior lot again."

"Uh, sure," the black-haired kid with the bowl-cut answered. "Yeah, sure."

"What was that?"

The cold, hard edge of steel that crept into Henry's voice made both boys turn pale, and they chorused, "Yes, sir." Henry looked over at Lisa, ending the interaction.

"Did you say something?" Henry asked, his face impassive and calm. Lisa looked slightly annoyed, but didn't say anything. "Well, did you?" Henry asked.

"I said," Lisa said with a hint of pouting in her voice, "Shouldn't we be getting home? My parents are expecting us for dinner."

"Is your house suddenly on the other side of town?"

"No, but-"

"Then we can go when I _want_ to, can't we?"

Lisa looked like she wanted to argue, but soon gave that up when Henry just kept staring back at her. She'd never put up with this kind of lazy, arrogant talk from any other boy she'd dated. They'd been here for a full twenty minutes now, Henry just running the diesel and smoking his cigarettes. He was running the heater, and Lisa had a jacket on, so she could deal with it.

Plus, Henry had taken off his own jacket while he smoked. That meant Lisa got to look at his muscular arms, the way his shoulders and biceps rippled like water…

Henry was smiling at her.

"See something you like?"

Lisa blushed, smiling back. "Yes," she said. "You look better with less on, though."

"I was just thinking the same thing about you."

The look on Henry's face then- the way he was so obviously checking her out, undressing Lisa with his eyes- was an absolute turn-on for Lisa. Any ordinary boy she would have smacked for even trying it, but with Henry it was a delight. A joy. Because the more he looked at her like that, the more Lisa knew he wanted her. She just couldn't get enough of time in a bedroom with Henry Evans, and as long as his blue eyes kept settling on her chest like that, there'd be plenty of times like that to look forward to.

Henry slammed the driver's door shut then, though, making Lisa jump a little; she'd twice now dazed out a little while thinking about Henry. She did that a lot, whenever Henry came to mind.

"Come on," Henry said with a smirk. "Your folks were nice to have us over for dinner. I think I know what I'd rather have for dessert, though."

Lisa smiled. Of all the girls Henry could've chosen, _finally_- after all these years- he'd chosen her. Henry could have said that they were going to read encyclopedias for four hours and then fuck, and Lisa would have waited through that four hours gladly. It wasn't just the sex, either, though the blonde girl richly enjoyed that. It was Henry's passion; he was just incredible. Absolutely _amazing_.

Even with all that she knew from the gossip chain about Henry, about what a stunning physical specimen he was and how skilled he was in the bedroom, Lisa had been blown away the first time Henry and her had slept together. He had literally wanted to keep going all night, to have round after round, session after session. It was like he hadn't had a real girlfriend in years! Lisa, of course, took great pride in knowing she was easily the first girl to really be meeting Henry's needs. It was saddening, really, that Henry had needed to wait this long when Lisa had been here the whole time.

Henry was a growing boy; a strong, smart and charismatic young man. He was a superb athlete, an absolutely incredible lover, and a loyal friend and boyfriend. Lisa had watched him work out at the gym many times, and it was stunning, the extremes he and his brother would push themselves to. It was obvious, when you thought about it, why Henry seemed so ravenously hungry for the excitement of the bedroom. It was physical exertion, one more way he could get his heart pounding and keep testing his limits. Henry needed a girlfriend who not only could stand up to his strength and size, but was glad to do it. A hardworking athlete like Henry needed a girlfriend who could massage his muscular shoulders when he needed it, who was there to help him relax when he wanted it. Lisa was probably the first girlfriend of Henry's who'd finally done right by him- shame on the rest for making him suffer so, without a real woman to look after his needs!

But Henry's passion, his seemingly limitless capacity for intimacy and romance, wasn't all that had Lisa so enthralled by him. There was his ability to somehow sense what Lisa wanted, or needed, and be able to give the remedy to her in just the right way. Whether it was a bouquet of roses or a long, passionate session in bed, Henry knew just what Lisa needed. In the time since they'd begun dating this semester, Lisa had never been so absolutely content. Everything was in the right place, just where it ought to be. She was the first girlfriend who had truly been able to give Henry everything he needed, everything he wanted- and Henry, likewise, was the first boyfriend Lisa had known who could easily do the same.

As Henry got the Hummer moving and they began the drive home to the Doyle household, Lisa smiled to herself as she looked out the window, wondering- and not for the first time- how she had ever deserved to be so lucky.

**XX**

Mark guided the Jeep into a nicely-chosen parking space, right in the front row in front of the YMCA building, then shut it off. He swung open the driver's door, taking a moment to stretch before stepping outside, and of course walking chivalrously around to the passenger door to let Amy out.

He felt good.

There were a few things that contributed to that, Mark figured. He was working out almost every day of the week, alongside his brother as always. He'd gotten in a bar fight Sunday afternoon, having the best time he'd had with his brother in weeks. And then yesterday, Mark had done what every teenage boy dreamed of doing. He'd fucked the hot new teacher.

The auburn-haired teen had enjoyed that immensely. He enjoyed sex, period, of course, but yesterday had been especially good. Maybe it was just that little thrill that came with sticking it in somebody new, or the fun of knowing he had broken down a dozen impassable barriers and made love to his science teacher anyway. Mark expected he'd keep up this "relationship" of theirs for a while.

_For one thing_, Mark thought with some irritation as he opened Amy's door and took her hand, kissing it gently as she got out, _Julie will probably keep me calm while I work on Amy. If I'm not getting laid regularly, and this redhead tries to tell me no again, I'm gonna kill her_.

But Mark hadn't given up hope. Not quite yet. He had been surprised about Amy's ridiculous intentions at first, furious that she would refuse Mark what he wanted- needed- out of some sense of righteousness. But he was Mark Evans! He was a young man who could thrill girls- and women- in ways most grown men never could, merely by taking his shirt off. Amy had probably flattered herself able to tell Mark no because she hadn't seen enough of him yet. Those fiercely intensive, lengthy workouts that Mark had been doing for years, and continued to do, were half the reason he had been getting laid like clockwork since freshman year.

The other half was that the auburn-haired teenager was extremely persuasive, able to charm or intimidate most anyone he wanted. Between those two attributes, Mark knew, Amy would be forgetting all about her high ideals soon enough. As they headed across the parking lot and began to go inside, Mark smirked a little, the smile being taken by others- passers-by whose heads turned at both the tall, handsome and extremely fit young man and the beautiful redhead he had with him- to be one of happiness, or contentment. But the auburn-haired teen was thinking most wouldn't have expected.

When Amy finally did give Mark what he wanted- and she would, make no mistake about it- she would be glad she did. She'd give up on those morals of hers, sure, but she'd be enjoying the benefits too much to ever feel guilty about it.

**XX**

Acting like a six-foot-six puppy, Mark innocently tried following Amy when she started heading off to the women's locker room. Amy was surprised that she didn't notice until she'd almost reached the door; for a boy who stood well over six feet tall and weighed more than three hundred pounds of hard, fit muscle, Mark Evans was surprisingly quiet when he wanted to be. In fact, Amy didn't even know he was still behind her until he announced he was, revealing his presence by gently putting his arms around her.

"Mark…" Amy sighed, trying to be mad at him and not doing well.

"Amy…" the auburn-haired teenager sighed, imitating her exactly.

Turning around, Amy found herself face-to-face with him. So close, in fact, that Mark was pretty much embracing her. Taking advantage of that, Mark pecked her on the lips.

"I love you," Mark said sweetly, and Amy knew- just knew- that he meant it.

"I love _you_," Amy said warmly, and kissed him back. That much she could do, and was glad for it. Maybe- just maybe- she would have a child with Mark someday. If she could only tame the playboy in him, convince this wonderful boy that there were some things more important than the physical joys of a relationship… maybe she would. Mark, Amy sensed, would make a great father. And a great husband.

Kissing Amy again after she broke away, Mark gently opened his mouth as their lips met, and Amy felt a warm, delicious feeling wash over her. She opened her mouth, and their tongues met. Briefly, Amy felt embarrassed; she was French-kissing her boyfriend in the middle of a YMCA hallway!

But it didn't matter. If some passionate kissing was what it would take to wean Mark off the wilder aspects of his love life, Amy would gladly do it. Mark was too good a boyfriend to give up on, just because he loved the playboy's life. Even the wildest stallions could be tamed, and they were the rarest and most handsome of all.

Finally, when they broke apart again, Amy gasped a little, suddenly short of breath. "H-hey," she giggled, a little giddy and lightheaded, "You're good at that."

"I've been practicing," Mark said, a smug- but somehow very cute- look on his face. Then he began to move away, heading for the men's locker room now. "See you at the pool."

**XX**

Mark took his time in the men's locker room, glad for the fact that nobody else was there right now. He stripped and took a shower, pausing both before and afterwards to admire himself in the mirror. Mark wondered sometimes; would his cock have been that size had he not been going to Fleetwood Hall with Henry all those times? If he'd stayed a "normal" boy, would his body be so stunning, so muscular and powerful?

Laughing at the idea of giving any of that up, Mark shook it off. He had no real interest in reliving any part of his old life in Arizona. He had no desire to return to his old, scaredy-cat self, to that morals-driven life that might have been.

It didn't matter. What did was that he was feared and adored by the boys, who all wanted to be like him. He was loved and lusted after by the girls, who all wanted to sleep with him. It wasn't just teenage hormones, either; Mark and Henry were together convinced that they symbolized everything that a strong, dominant male was supposed to be. Women had a primal urge to pass on the genes of the strongest male, the better to benefit and guarantee a future for the species.

Sliding on a pair of red swimming shorts, Mark felt a slight sense of regret. What if he wanted to pass on his superior genes right now? Maybe have a kid or two with the lifeguard, show that cute soccer mom what a _real_ man felt like? He knew they were checking him out at the pools, in the weight room- those bored, young (but still attractive) moms wishing for a little spice in their romantic life. He and Henry had often joked about fucking one or two of them on a weekend, just for a little extra fun.

And then there was Amy, of course. She was gonna be a great lay once Mark finally wore her down. How was she supposed to know, truly, what she was missing out on if the full, real Mark wasn't there for her to view?

Again, though, Mark laughed at his own concerns. So he couldn't go swimming naked today. So what? Amy would be getting to see the rest of him soon enough. From experience, though, Mark knew that having his shirt off was more than sufficient. After banging so many cheerleaders, enough volleyball players and high school socialites, Mark knew that when a hot, muscular boy was seen in his shorts or underwear, it wasn't long before girls started thinking about what he'd look like if that last article of clothing was off. Amy was no different, in spite of what she might be trying to tell herself. Mark knew it. He just needed to tempt her, show her what she was missing.

Which, of course, this afternoon was all about.

**XX**

Amy took her time in the locker room, aware that Mark- the vain boy that he was- doubtless was doing the same thing, for his own reasons. Amy was not an arrogant or conceited girl, but she knew she was good-looking, and did take pride in her good looks and figure. She was shy in front of the mirror, though, especially with her clothes off. It wasn't something you were supposed to take too much pride in; Amy knew without even asking how Lisa Doyle had gotten the way she was.

The redhead was careful in her thoughts about Mark, too; once or twice she'd slipped and let herself fantasize inappropriate things about her boyfriend, things she couldn't do. It was too bad, in a way, but Amy was firm on this. She had to do it, out of respect for her family, Mark, not to mention herself. If she just did what Lisa Doyle was proudly doing, and let Mark and herself give in to their most base lusts and temptations, what substance could their relationship have? How could Amy ever respect herself again, after letting a boy be with her before she was married?

No. There was no way around it. Kissing was one thing, but going the rest of the way was quite another. And besides, Amy knew Mark bore no grudges over it. She'd told him, and instead of arguing or blowing up at her, the auburn-haired teen had just smiled and said he was proud of her. It was so wonderful, hearing him say that. It made Amy feel so much more at ease about all of this.

When Amy got out into the pool area, though, walking out into the warm-water area in a sapphire-blue bikini that any cheerleader would be proud of, she didn't find Mark swimming laps in the lanes, or even waiting around in the shallow end.

Well, he was in the water. But Mark was right near the lifeguard's stand, powerful arms and shoulders out of the water, folded in front of him as he talked up to Brittany Jorgensen.

_No_!

Amy's pace quickened, and her pulse did as well. She knew Brittany was a good, close friend of Lisa's, and stood quite highly on the social ladder herself. Brittany had flowing, sandy-blonde hair, a slender figure that more than a few boys wished to place their hands around… and she was looking awfully interested in Mark right now.

But Mark wasn't a cheater! Amy tried to calm herself, tried to tell herself that this was all in her head. Mark was just talking to another girl from school, that was all. She knew his brother's girlfriend, and maybe that was all they were talking about. You know, how was Lisa doing, how's Henry doing. No big deal.

As she got closer, though, Amy couldn't help but notice.

Brittany wasn't the only teenage girl in the pool area, and neither was Amy. There were a couple other members of the cheerleading squad, some college girls swimming or working as lifeguards. All of them- every one- cast a glance or two at the hot, muscular boy talking to the cheerleader at the far end of the pool. And staying at a distance hardly looked to be their intention; if Amy would only hang back and wait a few minutes, some more of them would surely come up and say hi. And then they'd start swimming laps with him, chatting Mark up…

Oh, no. This was _so_ not good. What if- what if Mark got to feeling that he wasn't content with Amy? What if he started missing the attention some of these other girls would surely be glad to give him, gave up on Amy and went back to that?

_It isn't going to happen_. Confused, angry and even scared, Amy made a valiant effort to keep all this from showing on her face as she approached, walking carefully along the tiles. Mark might have to give up a few things while he was with Amy, but it wasn't so bad. She needed to show him that. Maybe Mark, a boy who had probably equated sex with love from the first time he'd done It, didn't understand the difference?

Yes! That was it. And Amy, no matter what it took, was going to show it to him. She was going to let Mark know what real relationships were about, and in time he'd forget all about these other girls, undressing him with their eyes and not even caring that his girlfriend was present. Amy wasn't too sure about marriage just yet- she couldn't say yes to just anyone- but she was sure Mark would be a fine boy to ask her, if he'd only wait a few years.

But Mark wasn't a patient boy. He rode high on the adrenaline of the big games, of gunning the V8 in his truck or swiftly shifting through gears on that Eagle Talon he drove. Mark was like a racing horse, in his own way; if he couldn't get a sweat going, his pulse pounding, in just about every way possible, he would- or was thoroughly convinced he would- simply go crazy.

Amy thought about that one for a while, even after she smiled at Mark, kissed him- right in front of Brittany- and began swimming and playing around in the pool with him. She had a great time, and knew Mark did as well.

But the redheaded cheerleader kept thinking about all that attention Mark had been getting, just by being in the pool with his shirt off. It was hard not to admire him, Amy had to admit- once she calmed down and got Mark's attention away from Brittany Jorgensen, Amy swiftly found she could hardly take her eyes off him. That muscular chest, those powerful, sculpted arms and shoulders- and those abs! It was easy to see why so many girls were always after Mark.

Well… Amy blushed a little at the idea, but she couldn't quite put it out of her mind. Maybe there was a middle ground here. Maybe if she gave Mark a little "affection"- so long as he understood it was because of how much she loved him- he would have one more reason not to think about these other girls so much. Amy wouldn't- couldn't- go back on the vow she'd made, but maybe there was a compromise. She would never, ever have contemplated this before- never did, however much she enjoyed her past relationships- but Mark was different. He just was.

And if going a little farther for him that she'd ever allowed herself to do for other boys helped them stay together? If it kept Mark's eyes on Amy and off the other girls who were constantly around him, trying to lure him away?

It was an idea worth considering. Amy decided it was, and even flirted with Mark while they were in the pool that afternoon, enough so that she could tell he was nothing short of delighted. That made her relax, feel a little better.

There had to be something she could do, something that would make Mark less likely to stray away from her. A playboy like him would not give up routine sex with his girlfriend easily, but maybe something short of that would keep him content. Amy didn't like the idea of that- even some heavy messing around was inappropriate- but she didn't like the idea of losing Mark, either. She liked- loved-him too much for that, and was very fond of the way he looked at her. When his blue eyes met her green, it was like they were staring at each other's souls. It really felt just like that.

The redhead also knew Mark spent a lot of time admiring her more physical qualities, too. More than once- when she knew no one could possibly see her- Amy had stepped out of the shower this semester and smiled at her reflection in the mirror, knowing that Mark Evans thought she was beautiful.

Amy couldn't quite say that she wasn't checking him out the whole time, either. Once- just once- the redhead with the pale skin and the gorgeous, flowing red hair cast her eyes on Mark Evans, letting herself fantasize for just a moment. The second she did that, Amy wished she was more like Lisa Doyle. It wasn't the most moral or upstanding life, sure… but it was probably a lot of fun.


	25. Chapter 25- The Homecoming Game

**Chapter XXV- The Homecoming Game**

* * *

Wednesday, October 15th, 1998, was the date of Joshua L. Chamberlain High School's Homecoming football game, against George R. LeBay High from down in Portland itself. It was a big day for all of the newly-minted Varsity Football Team members, who would surely be receiving their baptism by fire here. The bigshots- Jason Morgan, John LaFleur, Henry and Mark Evans- they naturally led the charge, directed the team's moves on the field and took the glory when they won. Which was pretty much all the time. If- which not one of the Varsity team believed- they were ever to lose a game, the Evans brothers wouldn't just make the freshman run at the next practice till they puked, since that was normal already. No, if they lost- especially at Homecoming- the brothers would punish everyone. Winning meant parties, getting wasted, high, laid and damn near anything else the boys on the team wanted. Losing would mean a fate worse than death.

**XX**

Julie sighed, a quiet and happy sound as she stretched out on the couch in her living room. Mark Evans, lying on the couch under her, nuzzled her cheek, lightly kissing her as his lips brushed Julie's neck. That made Julie smile a little more; this felt great. Just great. Mark had his iron-muscled arms wrapped around her, "protecting the perfect woman," as he liked to say. Julie would have asked him to do it, had Mark not put his arms around her waist on his own. She felt safe when Mark held her, like nothing in the world- not even Doomsday itself- could ever scare or hurt her. That was a feeling, a sense of security, that Julie just could not have enough of.

"Thinking about anything?" Mark asked, his voice close to her ear. Shifting slightly so she could face him, Julie smiled, pecking the auburn-haired teen on the lips. "Just thinking about how much I love you."

Mark laughed. "You really ought to think about your classes, Julie."

"Why?" Julie asked with mock confusion. "You're getting A's, as usual."

"As _always_," Mark said, kissing her.

"So what's there to worry about with my classes?"

"You've got some experiments coming up in chemistry."

A little disappointed, Julie shifted back to lying flat on Mark's front, her soft, slender frame resting on Mark's hard-muscled, lumpy form. That was nowhere near as comfortable as the couch, or it should have been, but Julie just enjoyed it so much. Being with Mark, even simply letting him fill her couch and lying down on top of him, seemed to help Julie's thinking. Give her thoughts a focus they wouldn't otherwise. Julie had tried it when she found Mark resting on her couch this afternoon, after a long session upstairs. Julie had gone to take a shower and cool off, while Mark had gone downstairs to rest on the couch. Julie had come into the living room and laid down on top of him, and they'd been here ever since.

But Mark had a good point, and Julie was a little annoyed at herself for trying to flirt with Mark when she should have been thinking of upcoming highlights in her chemistry class. And that was hardly the only class she was teaching! It was lucky she had Mark to focus her thoughts like this, make sure she didn't forget the things she needed to pay attention to. Any other boyfriend- and Mark surely was that now, even if nobody could know about it- would have wanted to talk about his life, his interests, his stuff.

But Mark? He was always asking Julie about how she felt, what she needed, or wanted. If there was anything he could do. He had come by this afternoon in that Eagle Talon of his, the darkened windows making sure nobody saw him. He thought of everything, Mark. And he really, really did care about Julie. She had no doubt of that now, even just two days after she'd finally given in to the inevitable. Mark was just such a wonderful man.

"Well," Julie said, shifting again in Mark's arms- firmly but gently wrapped around her, of course- "I was thinking of doing something showy. You know, have a little excitement. You'd be surprised what combining the right chemicals can do."

"Safely, right?" Mark prompted, and Julie nodded. "Of course."

"Too bad."

Julie laughed, realising right away that she couldn't even pretend to be mad at him for that. Mark could have said he was going to go out and throw dummies off a bridge, and it would have sounded funny. Likewise if he pretended to be disappointed that they couldn't do anything dangerous in the classroom.

Why? Because Julie knew Mark didn't really mean it. He'd never do any of those terrible things teenagers- the bad ones- so often did. He'd never hurt somebody, anybody- and certainly not Julie.

"I'm not sure what I'll do for the demonstration just yet," Julie went on, "I need to figure out what chemicals to use. Pick out a good combination."

"Like us?" Mark asked, his voice warm and sweet. Julie shifted herself a little, giggling like a schoolgirl as she heard a happy groan from Mark- the seat of her khakis was resting just over his groin now.

"Oh, man," Mark gasped after a moment, his grip on Julie's waist tightening just a little. "Uh, hang on, there."

"What's the matter?" Julie asked coyly, like she didn't know. "I'm just trying to help you relax. You have a big game coming up tonight."

She shifted herself to face him, and Mark smiled at her. "I can think of a better way for me to relax."

"You know something, Mark?" Julie said, grinning at him. "I think you look a lot better without those jeans, that polo shirt. Clothes just never look that good on you."

"We'd better get upstairs," Mark said, a little apprehensive.

"Why?" Julie asked, frowning.

"I don't want us to sweat up your couch."

Julie laughed, and told Mark the truth. "I don't care."

**XX**

Cuddling with Mark on the couch afterwards, with both of them sweaty and cooling down from some frantic, passionate love-making, was even more fun than before. Julie's body was thanking her a hundred times over, and Mark continued to hold her in his gentle embrace. It was amazing, really; Julie knew that Mark's muscles wielded truly incredible power. If he chose to, the auburn-haired teen could have hurt her very badly.

But he didn't. He just kept his powerful arms around Julie's soft belly, his breathing steady and regular beneath her. The steady rise and fall of Mark's barrel-like chest was soothing, calming, and it wasn't long before Julie fell asleep.

It was nearly an hour before Mark woke her up, playfully nipping at Julie's ear to do it. Startled, she yelped and almost fell off the couch- but Mark gently caught her in his arms.

But Mark had to get going soon, and gently but firmly he pushed Julie off him and began putting on his clothes. Reluctantly- and that was a word she'd _never_ expected to use at a time like this- Julie began to do the same. Briefly, she paused to think about what a stunning, thrilling change in her life Mark had made. She'd given in, surrendered to the truth- to Mark- just two days ago, on Monday. And somehow it seemed like ages ago. Like this really had been meant to be, all along.

And Julie was surprised at herself already, at how eager she was becoming to interact with Mark sexually. His teenage hormones, world-class athlete's build, and his own playboy personality gave Mark all the drive he needed, the ability to be a literally tireless lover. But Julie, normally a shy and reserved woman even in the bedroom, was finding herself disappointed whenever she and Mark were in a room together and couldn't make love- like at school- or when they did, and they eventually had to put their clothes back on.

Finally, after some healthy and exciting making out in the kitchen, Mark headed for his "Silver Talon" in the garage. Julie kissed him goodbye as he started the engine, leaning down to look at him in the driver's seat.

"Think you have enough energy left to come watch me at the game tonight?" Mark asked, a playful smile on his face.

"Sure," Julie said, returning his smile. "I wonder if you'll be too tired to play."

Mark just laughed. "Never."

"You gonna score a touchdown for me tonight?" Julie asked warmly, and the auburn-haired teen smiled in a way that made Julie thankful beyond words that she'd met him. Leaning out of his Talon to kiss his blonde chemistry teacher again, Mark looked Julie square in the eyes.

"Julie," he said, "They'll all be for you."

**XX**

Batting absentmindedly at his dyed-blonde, stylishly-cut hair, John LaFleur, the resident jock-prince of Chamberlain High- a title he enjoyed mentally bestowing on himself as often as possible- stretched out in the back seat of his 1972 Oldsmobile. It was a truly beautiful car, a pearl-white Cutlass 442 that had been professionally changed from coupe to convertible by a customizing firm in Florida. It had a gold-painted trunk lid and golden striping, and an all-white leather interior. The 442 spent many of its days on the road with the top up- this was Maine, after all- and more than a few people thought John was a fool for having spent so much time convincing his parents to acquire it.

But on those warm summer days, when even Northern states like Maine could encounter temperatures of 80-degrees Fahrenheit or more, or on balmy fall afternoons like this one, the 442 was golden. Completely worth what it had cost and then some.

John giggled, sounding almost exactly like a little kid. Cindy was gently playing with his balls again, giving him a blowjob while John leaned back with his pants around his ankles. The convertible's top was up for some privacy, but the windows were open. John found he really liked that cool autumn air blowing in, that crisp, cool scent reaching his nose while his gorgeous, jet-black haired girlfriend did something he liked a lot.

It tickled. It really did. John laughed again, groaning happily as he felt the climax coming. Cindy's head came up, and she looked at him curiously. "John?" she asked rhetorically, "Are you high?"

"As a motherf- as a kite, babe," John sighed, still staring up at the roof of the car. Shaking her head in good-natured reproof, Cindy ducked back down and in a moment, John felt the delicious thrill of her wet mouth on his member. He wasn't exactly sure how much pot he had in his system right now, but it was more than a little. Plenty more.

There was the big Homecoming game to get to, sure, but John still had a half-hour before he needed to be there. And after this long hanging out with the Evans brothers, John knew they were just gonna run the 11th-grade guys ragged tonight anyway; the seniors wouldn't have to do anything they didn't want to. But of course, as always, the seniors would get the glory, no matter how hard the juniors worked. They would wait until next year.

John wanted his bong back, wanted to light it up and send some more pot shooting through his system. This was the second time he'd tried getting Cindy to "show some affection" while he was high, and it was fucking amazing. John normally did well in English class, was known to be good with words, but he couldn't find any that fit how good this felt.

Where in the hell was the damn bong, anyway? John didn't know- maybe it was back in his room, where he stashed the marijuana he got on demand (for free, no less) from Martin Brodinsky. John soon decided he didn't care. Right now, he was sitting in the back of his custom V8, 442 convertible on a remote, border-of-the-county road, getting his dick sucked by one of the hottest girls in school. What more did he need?

"Are you gonna get in trouble?" Cindy asked, and John felt cool autumn air on his penis as her head came up again. Though a little annoyed, John was too relaxed- way too relaxed- to get mad at her. Instead, he laughed this off, shaking his head and smiling. "With who?" he asked, and Cindy said, "I don't know, like the cops or the coach or something."

Laughing again, John just shrugged. "Cindy, babe, you gotta stop worrying so much. I'm John-fuckin'-La_Fleur_. _Nobody_ messes with me."

"Except me," Cindy said, a coy look on her face as she gave a gentle squeeze to John's balls.

"Ah," John said, gasping and looking up at the ceiling. _Damn_, did this feel good. "Continue, please."

Cindy must have finally been satisfied that John, a young man famous in Chamberlain High for his position of favour at the closest point in the Evans brothers' inner circle, was indeed untouchable, because she resumed a moment later, and John went right back to feeling like he'd died and gone to heaven. By the time she finished, he felt like he really had.

It took twenty minutes for John to come down from the unbelievable peak of ecstasy his mind had taken him to. When he finally- and very reluctantly- pulled up his boxers and zipped up his jeans, his crotch throbbing so hard he could barely walk, John stood up, attempted to climb out of the back seat of his car, and found he couldn't do it. Instead, he fell over halfway across the front seat with his legs still in the back.

"Ohh, _damn,_" John moaned, feeling too good right now to even care, "Uh, Cindy?"

"Yes, John?" she asked, calmly combing her hair in the back seat.

"Keys."

"What?"

With considerable effort, John dug into his right pocket and threw them at her; they missed completely and jingled harmlessly against the leather-lined cushions.

"Keys!" John blurted, more insistently this time- as if that solved everything. His high was definitely getting to him. There was no fucking way he was gonna be able to drive…

"What," Cindy said, "You want me to drive you to the game now?"

"Yes," John said, "Good! Drive!"

"Why?"

"I can't get up!" John blurted, and burst out laughing.

It took Cindy another ten minutes- and the offer of a quick fuck in the back seat once they got to school- to get John to move from where he'd ended up, trying to get out of the back. The idea of getting to screw Cindy yet again was as appealing as ever, so John helpfully lumbered into the front passenger seat, leaned against the passenger door, and fell asleep like a child.

Cindy woke John up with some effort, and still John felt absolutely great. Did he want to go to the locker room and get ready, she asked? It looked like Jason, Paul and the other seniors were here, and Mark and Henry's SUV's were definitely in the parking lot already. No, John didn't want to go to the damn locker room.

"Why?" Cindy asked, a little worried now. "Shouldn't you be with them?" This might mean trouble, if it went wrong somehow. On the one hand, John was a sensitive, wonderful boy with a gorgeous body, a great sense of humour, and a sex drive that only the Evans brothers could top. He had deep pockets, and in the best imitation of Henry and Mark was always using that to get him- and Cindy- what he wanted.

And Cindy knew her boyfriend was right. Mark and Henry Evans did like him a lot, and he was as popular as anyone with them. And since the juniors who'd just made it onto the Varsity team had their trial-by-fire coming tonight, maybe the brothers wouldn't even care if John was late.

But what if they did?

"Babe," John said, looking at her with an attempt at sternness, "I'm gonna be _fffine_. M-Mark and Henry can _handle_ shit without me for once." He kissed her, caressing Cindy gently- and even managing to do it well from the passenger's seat. "Come on," he whispered in her ear, seeing she was wavering. "We've got a few minutes."

It was a damn good couple of minutes, Cindy had to admit.

**XX**

"I'm gonna make this simple," Henry Evans barked to the assembled boys in the locker room, all decked out in their blue-and-white football uniforms. "I don't wanna hear _shit_ about are we gonna win tonight."

"That's a given," his brother Mark said, his iron-muscled arms crossed over his massive chest. The dark look in his eyes as he surveyed the juniors- and seniors- promised what would happen if he and his brother were proved wrong.

"So what I _want_," Henry went on seamlessly, "Is real simple. Real _fuckin'_ simple, guys." Jabbing a finger at the door that lead outside and towards the field, Henry barked, "One of _them_ goes outta here on a stretcher! I don't care if it's a fractured knee, broken leg, or his goddamn back! I want that kid down on the grass, crying his eyes out on my and Mark's field, begging for his fuckin' mother."

"We'll tell Coach it was an accident," Mark added, anticipating that question as usual. "If anybody asks, you're sorry and you had no idea it would happen, all that happy shit. But Henry's right. That one kid on the other team better hit the grass hard tonight."

"What if there's two?" Jason Morgan asked, a malicious glint in his eye.

"Then the Homecoming party will have all the booze and pot you fuckers can take," Henry responded. After a moment's consideration, he added, "Actually, there might be more." This brought a laugh from many of the guys on the team; more than a few of them, clumsy and amateurish as they were, prided themselves on being able to smoke their share of pot or down their share of drinks and still stay on their feet.

"And how about if there's three?" Andre Cadiz said, his voice and expression cocky and arrogant, in spite of his paled face and churning stomach. He'd pushed himself beyond all reason to get this far. He wasn't about to betray the nervousness he felt.

Andrew's gamble paid off, too, because Mark and Henry just grinned, exchanging clearly-pleased looks. Gazing back at him, the Evans brothers spoke at the same time.

"Do it and find out."

**XX**

Following a rigorous warm-up, helpfully written for Coach Cressner by Henry and Mark, the boys of the Varsity football team at Chamberlain High were introduced to the packed stands. Being some of the wealthiest, best-looking, and most popular boys in the school as well as talented athletes, the many female students in the bleachers cheered them on wildly. Each had their own following, their own group of fans. Even girls who had no chance of ever catching their notice were here tonight, just hoping for a glimpse- a glance- from their crush.

And many boys were here tonight, too. Most of the male students at Chamberlain used football games as an excuse to ask a girl out on a date. As for the outcome of the game itself, most of the guys could have cared less. But more than a few guys who came out to Homecoming with a date were dismayed to learn their girlfriends, more often than they cared to admit, were busy watching Mark or Henry Evans.

They were incredible, truly stunning- high school athletes at their finest. Both Henry and Mark knew how to please a crowd, and they stepped forward as they were jointly introduced by the announcer, raising their fists high in a gesture of triumph. Their towering height and stunningly-handsome, muscular build was only surpassed by their ability as players and strategists on the football field. With the flawless record of victory after victory that they'd won for Chamberlain High, nobody at their school doubted what the outcome of the game tonight would be. It wasn't a question of would Chamberlain High win- it was a question of how badly LeBay High would lose.

However, a handful of people watching the game tonight noticed one prominent member of Chamberlain's Varsity team missing from the starting lineup. He was nowhere to be found, that handsome young man with the dyed-blond hair and the looks of a teenage pop-star. But Henry and Mark Evans noticed too, and were asking the question just the same.

Where in the hell was John LaFleur?

**XX**

Julie had only just arrived at Chamberlain High, this semester being her first at the school, so she had no previous attendance record at school sports events. That made it easier to show up at Homecoming tonight under the guise of getting to know the school, or school spirit or whatever. Julie made the excuses she needed to, greeted those colleagues of hers from the various departments who had appeared- voluntarily or otherwise- tonight. But as she watched the game from a special section of the stands reserved for teachers and staff, Julie kept her eyes on just one young man the whole game. Him, and nobody else, though when she glanced at #1, Henry Evans, it was easy to see where her lover's stunning good looks came from. No, Julie paid attention to just one member of Chamberlain's Varsity football team. #2, Mark Evans.

It was amazing, truly unbelievable, how intensely she had come to love the auburn-haired teenager, so fast. It seemed like only yesterday she had met him as a talented athlete and student, a boy even female teachers wished they could have a crush on. They had been living separate lives, then, part of two interconnected but completely different worlds. Then something had come along and changed all that. Mark called it destiny, wisely and rightly pointed out so many things that never would have happened, never could have… unless they really were meant for each other.

Julie knew, after all the boyfriends she'd had, that no relationship based on sex alone could last. She had never been in a relationship with a basis like that, but had known some friends who were. This, however, was different. As always, Mark was an exception to yet another rule that most would have said made a relationship like this impossible. It was only the first week, just two days after Julie had surrendered and given in to Mark's- and her own- desires for the first time. But already she could tell, knew for certain, that this relationship wasn't just going to be about sex. It would have that, yes, and great sex at that. Julie could tell that the first time she'd slept with Mark, on that wonderful, amazing Monday. Even today it was no different; she and Mark had begun caressing each other the minute he got inside the house, and they were upstairs in the bedroom in minutes. But it wasn't just the physical enjoyment, as great as it was- Julie and Mark were so deeply in love, so perfectly matched- they just couldn't keep their hands off each other.

The only downside of all this was the charade she and Mark had to maintain at school, in classes. Nobody- absolutely nobody- could ever know about this, and that meant acting like they were just teacher and student anytime that others could see them.

But that was up to the moment the bell rang at 3:45, and when Julie got home, followed closely by Mark, as early as 4:15 or 4:30 in the afternoon. And Mark's visit today had been even more thrilling than the first on Monday, intense and fulfilling as that night had been. He had worked out a brilliant plan for coming by, calling in advance and making sure she was home. Mark had installed tinted windows on his Eagle Talon, allowing him to enter and exit the garage of Julie's rented home unnoticed. Since Julie had her own Mercury parked in the street some days, neighbors- if they even noticed- had probably assumed Julie just had a visitor, or had gotten a second car.

Julie loved watching Mark out there on the field, his powerful muscles sustaining him with ease as he charged LeBay High's lines. Together with Henry, his brother, and Jason Morgan, they smashed through anything that got in their way, destroyed any opposition the other team could give them. Thrilling to watch this display of physical power, Julie thought back to the two times she and Mark had made love this afternoon. Mark was doing well out there tonight, energized and looking good. Maybe some time with Julie- and some good, satisfying sex- had played a part in how he was doing in the game. It wouldn't have surprised Julie; her teaching seemed to get easier every day now. Everything was becoming easier… now that she had Mark.


	26. Chapter 26- The Homecoming Game: II

**Chapter XXVI- The Homecoming Game: II**

* * *

"Hey, Sharon," Lisa Doyle called out as she spotted her favourite nemesis in the stands, "Come on over! Come sit with us!"

Sharon Hunter just turned, glared, and went back to staring resolutely down at the field, her arms folded up inside her dark blue sweater. Briefly, Lisa couldn't figure out why Sharon was even here. But then she noticed Scott Shepard, that self-righteous prick, sitting nearby.

"I wonder if he even knows Sharon doesn't give it up," Brittany Jorgensen said with a laugh.

Smirking, Lisa shrugged. "Maybe he's, you know, going fag. Sharon's probably a les-bi, so they'd be a great pair."

"Definitely," Courtney said.

"How about Amy?" Nicole asked curiously. "Which way does she go?"

"I'm not sure," Lisa said, a little annoyed that this talk was distracting her from following her beloved Henry's destruction of the lesser boys on the field. It looked like he was doing his damndest to put them all in an ambulance before the end of the night, and Lisa could have cared less if he did. So what? It wasn't her problem, and those pencil-dicked little children should have known better than to get in Henry's way in the first place. A boy with a cock that big and muscles that huge got what he wanted- plain and simple.

"I think she might be a frigid bitch, too," Courtney said. "I mean, how do you even, like, get on the cheerleading squad if you don't even go to parties or anything?"

"At least she's not fucking ugly," Nicole said. "I think I'd puke if they let anybody but the hottest girls in school on the team."

"I'm not on the goddamn cheerleading squad," Lisa said, irritated. "None of us are."

"Well, yeah, but I-" Nicole began, but her words were lost as Lisa, and then a whole crowd of girls around her, stood up and cheered just as loud as she could.

Henry had just scored a touchdown.

**XX**

"C-can you tell me about something?"

Amy could hardly believe the nervousness in the words she'd blurted out, but it was understandable when you considered she'd just gotten up and made her way through the stands to go talk to Lisa Doyle. And she wasn't asking about the weather tomorrow, either- she was going to ask about something else.

Turning around, Lisa looked like she wanted to burst out laughing. Dressed warmly in gray winter pants, a cashmere sweater and a blue jean-jacket with an emerald scarf about her neck, Lisa looked like the model she was probably going to be in a year or two. Her long blonde hair flowed over her shoulders and down her back, and right away, Amy could tell why Henry was so interested in her more physical qualities. Lisa had a lot of them to talk about.

"What?" Lisa asked, and with the noise of the game and the shouting from the bleachers, it was possible she hadn't heard. Except for the fact that Lisa had a big, shit-eating grin on her pretty, smooth, pale face. She knew Amy had said something, but was going to make her say it again. For the benefit of Lisa's whole entourage of friends.

"I-" Amy faltered again, but made herself continue. "I just wanna talk to you."

Brittany Jorgensen started to laugh out loud, and Nicole Turner and Courtney LaBlanc looked like they wanted to. But Lisa held up a hand, silencing them all. "What?" she said, sharper and colder this time, like the chilly air around them. "Is this some bullshit about the cheerleading squad? If they want me to try out, I'm not interested."

Amy's cheeks flushed a little, and she damn near turned around and gave up. Why did this have to be so damn difficult? Lisa knew the situation was a difficult one for Amy, and for no particular reason had decided to go ahead and enjoy it. Why was she like that?

"It's not about the cheerleading squad," Amy said firmly.

"Then what is it?" Lisa asked.

"I wanna ask you about Henry," Amy said, hoping her eyes would give the needed hint as to just what it was she wanted to learn.

For a few moments, Lisa and Amy locked eyes with each other, Lisa's entourage so intrigued they all shut up. Amy briefly noted this was quite an accomplishment, given that this whole group was either talking, shopping, driving, fucking their boyfriends or purging to "maintain my figure" on an almost literally-nonstop basis.

Lisa's eyes danced with amusement for a while, and at one point she looked like she was close to laughing in Amy's face and ignoring her for the rest of the game.

But that didn't happen. Instead, Lisa relaxed a little. "Nicole," she said calmly, "I think we need some refreshments for everybody. Hot chocolate for all of us, and Amy too. Take as long as you like." By that she meant, Don't come back for at least ten minutes.

Nicole, Courtney, and Brittany all got up and left without objection. They had other friends to go talk to, the game to watch, and of course, speculation amongst themselves to do, wondering what on earth had possessed Amy Philips, the quiet, pretty redhead on the cheerleaders, to come up and talk to Lisa Doyle like this.

Once they were by themselves, Amy sat down near Lisa, who looked ready to laugh again. "You really ought to consider letting Mark bone you sometime," Lisa said calmly. "Does wonders for your nerves."

"That's what I wanted to ask you about," Amy said, and Lisa actually spat out the water she'd been drinking. A freshman beneath her turned around and started to complain, but Lisa unleashed a torrent of verbal abuse that made him fall silent in shock. Glancing over at Amy without hesitation, Lisa said, "I'm positive I didn't hear that right."

"Look," Amy said with real effort, "I love Mark. A lot."

"Okay," Lisa said, smirking as she started to guess where this was going. The little girl's finally thinking of giving Mark some love, she thought, and wanted to high-five herself for being so damn awesome. Everybody in this stupid school needed to start paying some fucking attention to how often Lisa Doyle was right.

"It's not what you think," Amy said, blushing furiously. "I meant what I told you before."

"So what the fuck do you want?" Lisa asked, steel creeping into her voice as she began sensing her time was being wasted.

"I wanna- I want to know about other things. Mark's used to a lot I can't give him, but maybe I can do something. I'd rather do that than lose him."

"So you want to know how to jerk him off, blow him? What?" Lisa asked.

Amy blushed as red as her hair, but answered the only way she could.

"Both."

And Lisa Doyle smiled.

**XX**

About ten minutes into the game, #11 trotted his way out of the locker room and towards Chamberlain High's bench, doing his best to keep upright and going in the same direction. As he got close to the bench, a few of the juniors looked at him curiously, quickly looking away when they saw the familiar look in John LaFleur's eyes. He was so fucked up it was a wonder he hadn't fallen over. What was he doing here? Was he crazy? Henry and Mark had all but literally promised death to anyone on their team- and it was their team- who dared show up to a game drunk or high.

It wasn't so much that they gave a shit about any of the guys doing drugs or drinking. More than a few of the Varsity football and hockey team members had picked up the habit, using their rock-star status at Chamberlain to bully, bribe or charm a fellow student or two into making sure they got all the stuff they wanted. Jason Morgan was known to be quite adept at bribing doctors and otherwise cheating his way out of urine tests, and could sometimes arrange favors to that effect for teammates. Henry and Mark could have probably done a lot more than that, but nobody on the team knew for sure.

They'd never dared to ask.

John tried casually going around the water cooler and making his way to the bench, but instead walked into it and knocked it on its side. The jumpy, nerve-wracked juniors sitting near it all cried out in surprise as ice and freezing water went everywhere, and John gracefully slipped on some of the ice and fell on his ass, giggling helplessly.

"What in the hell is this?" Coach Cressner bellowed, turning his attention from the game to the cluster of agitated teenagers all gathered around the ice cooler. That was now on its side, empty. On the grass. "LaFleur!" Cressner barked, spotting the only senior in the middle of the whole mess, and the only boy on the team to be late tonight. "You better have a good excuse to give me, boy."

"Uh," John giggled, unable to help himself, "Um, well, you see, Coach, I-"

Just then the whistle blew as LeBay High's lead quarterback went down with a fractured kneecap, his eyes closed and his teeth gritted against the pain. As the teams withdrew while a stretcher was summoned, Andrew Cadiz jumped up and bolted towards Henry and Mark, who were sweaty, breathing hard, but grinning ear-to-ear all the way. Jason Morgan exchanged high-fives with each of them, and bets were being made amongst the seniors as to which LeBay player would have an "accident" next.

"Have you ever considered being an enforcer for the mafia?" Mark asked, looking at Jason. "They could use you. You'd get to collect bags of money, break people's legs- fun stuff like that."

Jason thought about that for a moment, and shrugged. "If they ask me, can't see why not. Good line of work."

"You fuckin' asshole," Matt Shea laughed, and so did the other seniors. The juniors chosen as starters were mostly quiet, smiling and laughing at appropriate moments but letting the seniors do the talking. Henry and Mark liked to do most of it, and swiftly became violent if interrupted.

"Henry, Mark!" Andrew Cadiz called, jogging up to them. "John LaFleur just got he-"

"Talk when someone _speaks_ to you, kid," Jason Morgan said flatly, shoving Andrew aside. The force of the push was enough that Andrew slipped on the cold grass and fell hard, wincing as he landed flat on his ass. Some of the seniors sniggered, but Andrew dared not glare at them. Instead, he forced himself to get up, knowing that strength, nerves of steel and iron will, were the things Henry and Mark most respected. They were the ones he had to impress.

But no sooner did the sixteen-year-old boy with the flaming red hair begin getting back up than he was forcibly jerked to his feet- literally picked up off the ground like a rag-doll. Abruptly, he found Mark Evans staring into his face, holding him barely a few inches away.

"_Who_ just got here, Cadiz?" Mark asked, in a tone that said he wasn't going to wait long.

"John LaFleur," Andrew breathed, and Mark just dropped him again, letting him stand up a second time. Striding swiftly towards the bench now, surrounded by the rest of the starting team, Henry and Mark exchanged just a couple of words, apparently about who was going to "Handle it".

Andrew got up, ignoring the pain in his ass from landing on the hard, cold ground twice. He made his way back towards the bench, watching as Henry and Mark calmly intervened as Coach Cressner was busy yelling at John for being late. They talked him down, said the things Cressner wanted to hear, and Mark soon was working with the Coach as they took the brief time-out to plan their next assault on LeBay High's lines.

Henry, meanwhile, was carrying the now-empty ice cooler back towards the locker room, John LaFleur following him without worry. But he stumbled now and then, and just once, Henry turned back and glared at him. Andrew, near the bench by then, was sure John didn't see it. But Andrew had, and it chilled him even at this distance. John LaFleur might have been one of Henry and Mark's oldest friends. He might even have been one of the coolest, strongest and richest boys at Chamberlain besides the Evans brothers themselves.

But if Henry wasn't happy with him, John LaFleur might as well have been a freshman in the band. Some boys and girls were more popular and privileged than others, but at Chamberlain, no matter who you were, the buck stopped with Henry and Mark. They didn't seem likely to play favourites when you came to a game high, or drunk- that was something that could get the whole team in serious trouble.

This was so not good. Steeling himself against the cold of the coming night, Andrew sat back down on the bench, praying that he'd get some field time tonight so that one, his soul-crushing, torturous efforts to get on the Varsity team would pay off a little more, and two, so that his teeth would stop chattering.

But it was still better than being John LaFleur right now. Andrew Cadiz was a good student, a boy who understood perfectly the way things were at Chamberlain High. He had learned his lessons well, laughing at the nerds, extorting money from the weaklings, and treating hot girls like he did a good box of Kleenex- soft, pretty, _damn_ good to feel up, and absolutely disposable.

And one more lesson he was applying now, was that you never, ever asked questions. You never spoke up in dissent, not against Henry and Mark. If Henry just wanted to have a talk with John tonight and let it go this time, that was fine with Andrew. If Henry wanted to beat John up and punish him, that was fine too. In fact, Henry and Mark could have been running a crematorium in their backyard, murdering a freshman a week and burning the bodies, asking Andrew to drive by once a week with coal… and Andrew, a boy who knew which side his bread was buttered on, wouldn't have said a thing against it. Not a word.

XX

"Come on, John," Henry said in that calm, dispassionate voice of his, "Let's get in here. I wanna talk with you."

"Oh, about that ice, man?" John said, still dazed and foggy. "S-sorry, man. I mean, Henry. I kinda slipped, and- yeah." He laughed, a little nervously- but only a little. After all, what was there to worry about? He was Henry's best friend, had been for years. This was nothing he and Henry couldn't work out between themselves.

Henry was holding open the door to the locker room, looking back at John with a calm, emotionless look on his face. He didn't look thrilled right now, but Henry rarely did, except when he was partying, raising hell at a game, or hanging out with Mark. He smiled now and then, when John or another of his friends did something he liked, but for the most part, Henry was just as cool as a cucumber. Henry the Cucumber, John thought ludicrously, and laughed before he could stop himself. As he headed into the locker room, though, Henry didn't say anything. He just let the door swing shut behind them.

Locating a large cooler filled with spare ice and a faucet that was set in a storage closet to refill the coolers during games, Henry and John refilled the empty cooler. Becoming apologetic and contrite- but still not worried, and if anything beginning to relax- John offered to carry the cooler back outside.

"Nah," Henry said coolly, "That's okay."

Then he picked up the cooler, hefting so many gallons of water and ice like it was nothing, swung it in a wide arc, and slammed it into John's face.

The blow caught John completely off-guard, and he crashed backward into a set of lockers behind him, his head banging loudly and painfully into a door. The cooler had slammed into the side of his head, thank God, but it still hurt like a bitch. As John struggled to stand, not even halfway comprehending what had just happened, Henry dropped the cooler, took a step forward, and with a cold, flat expression on his face, swung out his left leg and kicked John in the balls.

Pain exploded in the form of yellowish-white stars, damn near blotting out John's vision, and he collapsed to the tiled floor, clutching his privates and gasping as the pain rolled through him. "Dude," he gasped when he could speak again, "What the _fuck_? Henry, what the f-fuck?"

But Henry just kicked John again, this time in the stomach, and just as hard as before. Now fighting the terrible and rising urge to vomit, John groaned, curling up to protect himself. "What?" he cried out, "We're _friends_, man! Come on, stop it!"

"Who sold it to you?" Henry asked, as if he hadn't heard a thing John said. "Who the fuck sold you the pot?"

"What?" John asked, still bewildered beyond any words. He'd been the best friend of Henry and his brother Mark for years. Years upon years. What had happened? What had he done- even had a _chance_ to do? "Look, man," John forced out, "I-I don't know what you're talking about, Henry."

Henry didn't say anything. He just sighed, shaking his head. They waited like that for a few minutes, John balled up in pain on the floor, and Henry staring down at him without a shred of pity in his eyes. Just once John looked up at them, those cold, ice-blue eyes, and quickly decided not to look back again. The cold, bottomless hate he saw there scared him beyond all description.

Finally, John felt strong enough to stand again, and he slowly- very slowly- got to his feet. But just as John started to speak, started to make his apologies and excuses, Henry stepped off to his left and did something John never could have imagined was possible. The tall, muscular boy whose physical strength and stamina was only rivaled by his brother's, reached out and ripped a locker door clean off.

Then he swung it in a wide arc, like a bat, and slammed it into John's face. This time, he didn't miss. Pain bloomed into a new level of agony, one John had never experienced in his life, and he screamed and clutched his nose as blood began gushing down his face. "Fucking hell!" John cried, stunned and frightened. "Henry, _why_? What the fuck-"

"You talk too much," Henry said calmly, and kneed John in the balls. That second blow to his testicles was more than the other teenager could take, and he collapsed, writhing in pain on the floor as he tried to both clutch his bleeding nose and protect his injured balls.

"Who sold you the pot?" Henry asked again, but John just made a few horrified choking sounds. There was a lot of blood on his face, in his nose, down his throat. He'd never seen this much of his own blood; never.

Henry sighed, as if he was dealing with a difficult child, and hauled John to his feet. Briefly, they locked eyes, John desperately telling himself that he was trembling because it had been cold outside. Not out of raw fear.

"It was Martin Brodinsky," John said quietly. "He sold me the pot."

Henry shrugged. "That saves time."

"So can you stop hitting me now?" John asked. "I-I'll never do this again, man. I'm sorry! I was just having all this fun with Cindy, and-"

"Yeah, I know," Henry said, cutting him off. "Cindy's hot. I know, I fucked her already."

"That's fine!" John blurted, not even daring to be indignant about it. "I'm sorry, Henry. I won't do this again."

"Sure," Henry said, and punched John in the mouth. Staggering back and tasting blood on his teeth, John cowered as Henry advanced, his eyes narrowed to slits. This wasn't good.

And it wasn't. For nearly twenty minutes, John begged, pleaded and apologized as Henry Evans beat the hell out of him. Never once did John fight back; not a single time did he try to defend himself. Having attended the same karate school as Henry for as long as the blond Evans boy did, and being on the same two teams and a frequent visitor to the gym, John was in excellent shape and a gifted fighter. But he dared not resist, or even block the blows to any real degree. The reason for this was simple. When Henry or Mark was pissed at you, fighting back- verbally or physically- only made things worse. _No one_ had ever bested them in a fight, and the beating you got would be that much harder for however much you tried to stop it.

By the time Henry even paused, John was in truly horrible pain. His nose wasn't broken- it would have been a lot worse, the pain and the bleeding, if it had been- but he had enough bruises to make him limp like a cripple for days. It was a calculated, careful beating, John realised later- Henry wanted to do enough to hurt John, and hurt him bad, but not so much that he got sent to the hospital and everybody asked a lot of awkward questions.

Then Henry picked John up, slammed his back against a set of lockers, and dropped him on the bench. Crouching in front of him, Henry looked John in the eyes. John cowered, unashamed, but dared not look away.

"If this happens again," Henry said quietly, "Or if you tell anybody… no one will _ever_ find your remains."

John LaFleur nodded. For a moment, the two teenagers looked at each other, one battered and bloodied, and the other not even having broken a sweat.

"Why did you do this?" John asked, almost whimpering it. He regretted even asking the moment he spoke, but the words were out. Deciding he had little to lose at this point, John added, "I thought we were friends."

Henry just laughed, a cold, harsh sound in the empty locker room. "I did it because I could. You gave me the chance, so I took it." The towering, muscular teenager paused for a moment, as if thinking John's words over. Then he leaned close, speaking in a low, deadly voice John didn't like at all.

"You look scared shitless right now, John, and that's good. You're fucking warned, man. Don't you ever pull this shit again. Just because you hang out with me and Mark doesn't mean you're as good as us."

John nodded, eager not to get hit anymore. "Nobody's better than you guys, Henry. Everybody knows that."

Henry was silent for a few more moments, then spoke once more. "The guys are gonna want to party this Friday, celebrate our big win tonight. You're sitting that out, because I decided to be nice and not kill you. Glancing at John, he asked in a clearly-rhetorical voice, "Wasn't that nice of me? Not killing you?"

"It was," John said, nodding with enthusiasm. He had been hit enough tonight. At this point, he would have gladly agreed to bury a body if that's what Henry wanted. All told, he was still getting off lucky.

Henry abruptly shot out a fist and punched John in the stomach again; caught off guard, the other teenager started gagging, gasping for breath. That, and fighting not to puke on Henry's shoes.

"We're gonna win tonight, John," Henry said calmly, as if nothing unusual had happened. "And I think we should have a party this weekend, to celebrate. How does your place on Friday sound?"

"Sounds great, Henry," John said, when he had enough air to talk- but Henry was already gone.

Briefly, John wondered how Henry even knew that the LaFleur elders were driving down to Connecticut this weekend, attending an alumni conference at Yale, where both of them had met. But questioning such things about Henry, and Mark, was stupid. Their ability to stay well-informed, ten steps ahead of everyone around them, was unnerving.

Ignoring the sounds of the game outside- which he knew Chamberlain was winning- John cleaned up his own blood, jammed the locker door Henry had ripped off its hinges back in place as best he could. Finally, John stripped, limped to the showers, and let the warm water wash the blood off his face and soothe the thousands of sores and aches in his body. His high was finally fading, but the joy of it had died long ago.

Leaving just before halftime, John limped out to his car in his regular clothes again, wondering how in the hell he was going to explain this to his girlfriend, to his teachers tomorrow, or to his parents when he got home. Of all the stories John might tell, he knew which one he wouldn't: the truth.

John LaFleur was a boy whose parents had raised him to be honest, teaching him that it was always best to tell the truth, no matter what. It was in the motto of Yale, even- _Lux et Veritas_, or "Light and Truth".

But sometimes, the truth wasn't good enough. Sometimes it wasn't worth the trouble it would bring, the fury of two friends-turned-enemies named Henry and Mark Evans. As John patiently waited in his car, out there in the darkened parking lot while lights lit up the football field, he wondered how Cindy would take the story he'd make up for her when she asked what had happened, when she met him out here and he drove her home. John didn't worry about it too much, though. As bad as this had been, as horrible as he felt about what Henry had inflicted on him tonight, John knew he had little right to complain. His status was untouched, his girlfriend and family were unhurt, and he had- this time- been done no lasting harm.

Altogether, he'd gotten off lucky this time.

_This_ time.

**XX**

The game progressed, and Henry and Mark were soon both out on the field once more. Lisa, watching eagerly up in the stands, was disappointed to see her boyfriend leave the field for a time, but rejoiced the moment he came back. She cheered him on with all she had, thrilling at the sight of it every time that muscular, blonde He-Man scored another touchdown, blocked another LeBay player's pass.

It was unbelievable; Henry never once seemed to tire. Not for even a minute did he slow down, or look like he needed a break. He just kept going, leading the others on his team alongside his brother, tearing through everything the LeBay boys had. Even from here, Lisa could see it was unnerving for them; they were obviously not used to this. Lisa smirked, smug at her first-hand knowledge of what a tireless, powerful teenager Henry was. If he had it in him to literally fuck all night, bowling through a bunch of children at a football game was nothing. Nothing at all.

**XX**

Amy had finally sat down to watch the game at the edge of Lisa's group, having been offered the chance to sit with them but not really comfortable with it just yet.

Lisa had talked with her for about ten minutes, and Amy had… learned a lot. It was shameful to even think about, but she had needed to know. Mark was a good boy, a kind and caring boy, but he had a penis like all the rest of them. And Amy was no fool; she knew very well that Mark was used to getting to use his. She couldn't offer him that. Not unless they got married, she couldn't. But maybe she could do some of those other things, keep that side of Mark happy and prevent him from leaving her for that reason.

The redhead cheerleader watched Mark all through the game, studying his swift sprints, his quick advances and rare, grudging retreats. She waved to him any time he glanced her way, and Amy's heart leaped with joy when- not once, but _twice_- he saw her and waved back.

_He loves me_, Amy thought, getting butterflies just thinking about it. _Mark could have chosen anybody in this school. He could have been sleeping with another of those girls who'd be all too ready to give him whatever he wants, but he chose me instead_.

And why?

_He loves me_.

**XX**

As the game drew to a close, the Chamberlain team's win a total shutout, Julie found herself absolutely entranced by Mark's performance, out there on the field. He was gorgeous, he was hot. Mark was the best damn man Julie had ever seen. She spent half the game watching Mark, half of it undressing him with her eyes, fantasizing about him- and unashamed to do it. She thought of this afternoon, blissful and romantic as it had been, and more than once replayed the memories of Monday- that first, wonderful night when Mark had made love to Julie, upstairs in the bedroom of her house.

Reminding herself to ask Mark for his football game schedule for the remaining season, Julie also recalled hearing that he and his brother Henry were leading players on the hockey team as well. That was good; Julie's first year at this school would go all the better if she appeared interested in school athletics and school spirit in general. It was the perfect way of both showing support for the school that had given her a job, and for the young man who had noticed Julie, singled her out, and given her his love. Julie went to sleep that night without trouble or effort, telling herself those warm, comforting words as she conjured up Mark's handsome face in her mind.

_He loves me_.


	27. Chapter 27- October 17th

**Chapter XXVII- October 17th**

* * *

October 17th was a date that everybody who was anybody at Chamberlain High had marked on their calendar. The reason for it was simple; the day after the Varsity football team's shut-out victory over LeBay High School, word began passing through the grapevine that a party would be held tomorrow night, to celebrate. Those considered worth inviting rejoiced, even if they weren't on the football team themselves; parties hosted just after a big win like Homecoming were even better than the normal ones. More drinks, and better ones; ditto for the teens who wanted to light up their bong in the basement. And with so many cheerleaders, football players, and generally horny teenagers in one place, there would be limitless opportunities for somebody looking to get laid.

Chris Marshal had heard about all this already, and was even ranked high enough on the social ladder that he'd been invited to one of the Evans brothers' parties so far. But he wasn't sure about this one. The Homecoming party was a big one, and Chris was unsure of how his newcomer status ranked against something like this. But even if he got invited, Chris was a little unsure of what to do. He'd done all right last time, sure. He'd smoked a couple cigarettes even though he hated them- smoking was insanely popular with teenage boys at Chamberlain, it seemed- and drank a couple beers even though they were awful. He'd even danced a little, even though he was not a fan of the music, and wasn't much good at dancing regardless.

But what had Chris wondering- and worrying- the most, was the fact that… well, there was no way of getting around it, if he was going to be honest with himself. He was a virgin.

It hadn't exactly been Chris' plan in life for this to happen, but it had. Or rather, hadn't. And just listening to the conversations big-time guys like Jason, John, Henry and Mark had, the label "virgin" was a virtual death-sentence to any guy with social aspirations. So what was Chris supposed to do? He wanted to be a popular guy, wanted to be a big-shot and live the good life, like John and all the rest of them were doing. Chris wanted that. But he still needed to figure it all out, learn the ropes. He'd done well so far, making a good impression on Henry and Mark- what they thought of him went a long way at Chamberlain.

But if Chris stumbled now… that would all be lost.

On his way to his 4th Hour English class, Chris was a little withdrawn, busy thinking about all this as he made his way through the crowded halls. Turning onto a secondary hallway, one with less student traffic- and fewer teachers- Chris almost walked into another social up-and-comer, Andrew Cadiz, who had his back to Chris. At first it looked like Andrew was studying a row of lockers close up, but as Chris got closer, he saw that there was actually a kid there. He was no more than fourteen or fifteen, lanky and shorter than Andrew and Chris both. Dressed in worn-in jeans and a striped polo, he was looking up at Andrew from under a mess of black and dyed-blue hair, a worried look on his face.

"L-look," the kid was saying, "I gave ya all I got. That's it."

"There was _ten_ bucks in my hand last week," Andrew said irritably. "Why the _fuck_ am I holding five?"

"My Mom only gives me ten once a month," the kid said pleadingly, "I swear."

"I dunno," Andrew said casually, shrugging slightly. "Maybe she _likes_ you getting beat up."

"She doesn't know about that!" the kid said, and his voice cracked.

"Damn right she doesn't," Andrew said menacingly, "And it's gonna stay that way. Listen. I want twenty next Friday. To make up for you short-changing me today."

The kid looked truly mortified at that. "But what am I supposed to d-"

"Not my problem," Andrew said flatly. "Mom only gave you five for this week? Fuck you, pay me. Somebody else already took your fuckin' lunch money? Fuck you, pay me. Afraid Mom's gonna find out if I beat you up again? _Fuck_ you, _pay_ me."

"I think you said "fuck" enough times," Chris said, announcing his presence and keeping his voice light. Other students were passing by, other kids from freshman to seniors, but no one else was paying attention. Or rather, no one else dared get involved. Word was out that Andrew Cadiz was one of the big-shots now, a jock. You didn't fuck with jocks, not at this school.

Andrew's head whipped over his shoulder, and Chris saw he already had a fist ready to go.

"Fuck off," Andrew snarled, then recognized who it was. "Oh. 'Sup, Chris?" he said, smiling and relaxing his posture, while still keeping the freshman pinned to the locker. Chris could see a five-dollar bill clutched in his left hand.

"Sup," Chris replied, forcing his eyes off the kid behind Andrew. "Whatcha doin'?"

"Oh, this?" Andrew said, laughing as he followed Chris' eyes down to the bill in his hand. "Just getting paid."

"Paid for what?" Chris asked, a little curious.

"Protection," Andrew said, smiling in a way that was almost- almost- a smirk. "Skinny little fuckers like this kid know that it's best if they keep guys like me happy."

"Don't you have lunch money yourself?" Chris asked, careful with his tone. He wasn't sure just what to do with this situation, but he knew it wouldn't do to have Andrew think he was trying to argue.

"Course I do!" Andrew exclaimed, and then scoffed. "What, did you think I was _poor_ or something?" He laughed, shaking his head. "No, not me. I'd hate to be like this guy," Andrew said, gesturing at the smaller boy behind him.

"I'm not poor!" the kid exclaimed indignantly, but Andrew just shoved him against the lockers without even glancing back. "Shut the fuck up," Andrew said flatly. The kid shut up.

"So," Andrew said, his tone light and friendly once more, "You hear about the party?"

"Sure," Chris said, making sure to sound casual. He still had no idea if he was invited yet, but acting like he already knew about it couldn't hurt his chances.

"You know whose house it's at?" Andrew asked.

"I do," Chris said, cutting his eyes at the freshman to indicate why he wasn't saying the name. Andrew saw this and nodded, visibly impressed. "You're a cool guy, Chris. I see why Henry and Mark like you."

"Redheads think alike," Chris said, throwing a flashy grin into it, and Andrew laughed. "We fuck alike too," he said, "Not that this nerd would know about that."

"No," Chris said, "I don't think he would." It was surprisingly easy to throw some cockiness into his voice, sound like he knew all about getting laid. Maybe hiding this side of himself wouldn't be so hard after all. It would be easier still if Chris did get laid and had stories to tell- real ones- to prove it.

Amused yet again, Andrew chuckled. "Hey, man," he said, "I gotta get back to business. Good talkin' with you. Hey, catch up with me later, okay? You want anything special for the party, just let me know." Winking, Andrew added, "I'll even get you a set of Trojans if you want."

"No thanks," Chris said, shaking his head. "I don't use that shit. If you don't _trust_ the pussy, man, why are you _fuckin'_ it?"

That cocky, flippant remark had been made up on the spot, but it worked extremely well.

"Exactly!" Andrew exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. "Fuckin'-A. That's how the _real_ men do it, you know? That rubber shit is overrated." Andrew paused, then looked at the five in his hand. "Hey, man, you want this? I got plenty."

Chris hesitated; he hadn't intended to carry this so far. He'd started this conversation with some hope of getting Andrew to leave the kid alone, but had found no easy way to do it. Andrew Cadiz was a cocky motherfucker- everybody Chris had ever asked about him said that, and Chris himself had no trouble noticing- and would clearly not back off from bullying a kid without trouble. Chris might not have even minded starting some trouble, except Andrew was "in" with Henry and Mark's crowd. If Chris fought him to defend some kid, even if that was what was right, the Evans brothers would be pissed. Chris couldn't have that.

But… looking the other way was wrong to start with. That was bad enough. But actually accepting extorted money, taking it as a gift?

Chris felt his neck getting hot, could feel himself sweating just a little. This wasn't easy. What was he gonna do?

"It's _fine_, dude," Andrew said placatingly. "Believe me. These kids I take money from, they know better than to blab. You won't end up in the Principal's office." He held out the five-dollar bill.

"I'd hate that," Chris said as he slipped the bill into his hand and then into his pocket, smiling slightly as if they were sharing a secret. Which was true, in a way.

"Me, too," Andrew nodded. "That's why I'm outta here." Turning to the freshman, who he shoved against the lockers again by way of farewell, Andrew said coldly, "Twenty next week, dork, or I'm gonna show you what pain really is." Turning back to Chris, Andrew nodded. "Later, dude. Enjoy your lunch."

"Thanks. Later," Chris said, and the two boys went on their way. Chris made sure not to even glance at the kid he'd just let Andrew steal money from- whose money he now had in his own pocket. But even so, Chris could see the hurt look in the kid's eyes, the shocked expression on his face. Clearly- heartbreakingly so- he had been hoping Chris would be his savior.

Chris wished he could be, even. But he had done his homework when he got here, showed up for senior year at a new school. The jocks and the rich kids- often one and the same- ran this place. Sure, there was bullying, and certainly a few guys like Andrew ran small-time "protection" rackets. But Chris was just one guy, one with social and athletic aspirations at that. Was he really supposed to sacrifice all that for some moral crusade?

At another school, in another place, Chris might have. But he'd seen how things worked at Chamberlain, knew it very well. So not here.

_Besides_, Chris told himself with some effort as he headed on to class, _That kid'll be all right. Andrew just roughed him up a little, and it does look like he leaves 'em alone when they pay up. That's not so bad. I got worse when I was in middle school_.

**XX**

Scott Shepard was the better part of halfway to his 4th Hour class, a single light backpack slung over one shoulder, when he spotted somebody he knew- or rather, once knew- limping down the hallway on the opposite side. The slightly shy, slightly effeminate manner and stride, the dyed-blonde, stylish hair with just a few hints of its original black- it couldn't have been anyone else, and Scott of all people would know.

His old friend, John LaFleur, was making his way down the hall in what looked to be considerable pain. He would go off-step every third or fourth step, but resolutely continued down the hallway as if nothing was wrong. Right away, though, Scott noticed something was. Not only did John look pretty roughed-up, with dark circles under his eyes and that limp in his step, but he looked quite downhearted. Miserable, even.

"Hey, hey- John!" Scott called, a spur-of-the-moment decision. It had suddenly occurred to him that while he'd been watching the game last night, not once did he see #23, John's jersey number, anywhere on the field. And now, he shows up at school, looking like hell? Not many people could beat up a physically fit, popular guy like John, and only a few would even have the guts to try, given who John was associated with. There weren't many who could've done it.

John looked up, recognizing his former friend's voice and face immediately. Changing directions, Scott fell into step with him. "Got a minute?"

"Not really," John said flatly, his tone making it clear he did but didn't want to spare it.

"Come on, John," Scott said, "I just wanna talk for a minute."

John sighed in exasperation, but changed course at a secondary intersection, heading onto a smaller, shorter hallway with lockers lining both sides. Stopping there, he looked at Scott and shrugged. "What? What are you bothering me for, man?"

"Who did this to you?" Scott asked quietly, and even over the general background noise of the halls between classes John heard him easily. He pretended he didn't, though, and responded with a confused, hesitant "What?"

But Scott wasn't about to be deterred; not today. He was feeling a number of rising emotions; a sense of empathy, of regret for the pain inflicted on his former friend, and anger at the one- or ones- who'd done it.

"Was it one of the Evans brothers?" Scott asked, point-blank. "Did one of them do it?"

John, normally a pale boy with his cheeks flushed slightly pink, turned white as a sheet. His eyes widened in fear, and he shook his head. "No- no, I-I fell yesterday, and-"

"Don't lie to me, man," Scott said flatly, cutting John off. "You're not very good at it."

John just stared back at him. He looked like he wanted to leave.

"Why can't you tell me who did this?" Scott asked, changing his approach slightly.

"Because I fell," John said stubbornly, his eyes wide, his skin pale, and his expression- his eyes most of all- begging Scott to just drop this and leave it alone. "That's all there is to it."

There was a pause; finally, Scott's volatile feeling of indignant, impotent rage and sorrow reached the surface. He looked at John and just told him the truth; there was nothing else Scott could say. It was as sad as it was infuriating; a guy as smart as John, of all people, should've never fallen for Mark and Henry's crap.

"I tried to warn you, man. I tried to tell you what those fuckers were like! Do you remember seventh grade, that summer? I fuckin' tried to get it in your head, tried to tell you what they were like, over and _over_ again. But you didn't wanna listen."

John said nothing. He was having a difficult time meeting Scott's gaze.

"How about now? You see what those two are like? You see what they are?"

It looked like something Scott said- some part of it- had hit home. The blond teen Scott had known for years looked at him briefly, and for just a moment opened his mouth to speak. But just as suddenly, he closed it again, then pushed past Scott and hurried down the hall, around the corner, and out of sight without a word.

**XX**

The class was AP Modern World History, and the teacher was Mr. Richard Phelps, formerly Technical Sergeant Richard Phelps, US Air Force. A modest and physically unimposing man of average height, Mr. Phelps had earned his NCO's stripes, a Purple Heart, and a Silver Star as a member of Air Force Security Police. The rank had been earned through some ten years of military service; the Purple Heart and Silver Star had been earned in 1968, during his second tour in Vietnam.

Holding a Bachelor's Degree from the University of Richmond and a Master's from Yale, Mr. Phelps was an accomplished soldier, scholar, and teacher, holding great respect from his students and peers. One of a few non-athletic staff who genuinely liked the Evans brothers for their dual mastery of academics as well as athletics- most students could only do well at one, some at neither- Mr. Phelps was pleased at the start of the Fall 1998 semester to see that not one, but both of the brothers would be in his AP Modern World History class. It was aimed to go from World War One until the end of the Cold War, and from what Phelps had heard and seen over the years the Evans boys had gone to Chamberlain High, they were both quite enthusiastic about the study of modern history.

Today, at this point in the semester, Mr. Phelps was just beginning to take the class into an examination of the 1930's, specifically the events and individuals that would lead to a second world-scale war. The rise of Franco in Spain, of Mussolini in Italy, and most of all, of Adolf Hitler in Germany, were central to this section of the class. At the moment, Mr. Phelps was lecturing the class on the beginnings of the Schutzstaffel, or Protection Squadron, commonly the infamous SS.

"This organization was begun as a small counterpart to the SA, Hitler's personal brawler's and street-fighters," Phelps said, pacing back-and-forth in front of the blackboard. "When it was clear the Nazi Party would need the support of the German Army and its aristocratic generals to gain true control of the country, Hitler made arrangements for the paramilitary SS to all but dispose of the SA, in the Night of Long Knives. SA leader Ernst Röhm was shot, and the SA, for all intents and purposes, ceased to exist."

Here Phelps paused, his gaze sweeping out over the class. Some of the students appeared more interested than others, some less; Anthony Summers, for one, kept nodding off, his head drooping and then coming back up. He had complained of being tired from last night's football game when Henry Evans had whacked him on the arm, but Phelps didn't quite buy it- after all, Henry and Mark were the team's star athletes and co-captains; they played harder than anybody, and yet they were awake and alert all through the class this morning.

In fact, "alert" didn't quite seem to fit. Both Henry, and his brother Mark, both of them sitting in the front row- a very uncommon gesture for popular athletes, who had in past years preferred to goof off in the back- weren't just paying attention this morning. They looked absolutely riveted.

Anthony Summers fell asleep again; Henry jabbed him with a pencil. The sharp end.

"Ow!" Anthony yelped, jumping in his chair. The other students looked around at him, and he looked back, looking mildly annoyed. "What?" He then noticed Mr. Phelps looking at him, and promptly shifted to sit more upright in his seat. "Uh, continue, sir."

"Wasn't Ernst Röhm a personal friend of the Führer?" Mark asked.

"He was," Mr. Phelps said, despite being slightly put off by Mark's use of the Nazi leader's title. "In fact, when future Waffen-SS general Theodor Eicke entered the room that Röhm had been brought to and ordered him to commit suicide with a pistol, Röhm refused, saying defiantly, 'If I am to be killed, let Adolf do it himself. Röhm was also the only member of Hitler's inner circle to be daring enough to use his first name in conversation; even Göbbels, Bormann and Himmler addressed him as 'Mein Führer."

"Sir," Henry Evans said, in that same intrigued tone as his brother, "Weren't there several branches to the SS, especially after they got rid of the SA?"

"There were," Mr. Phelps said, nodding to Henry. "The SS was originally created, as I said before, to be a more disciplined, better-attired force of street-fighters. When they served the Nazi Party alongside the SA, they were Hitler's personal bodyguards, protecting the Nazi Party's leaders at their first meetings in Munich. It was from that initial role that everything else the SS did developed."

These two never failed to make a class more interesting. In every history class they'd attended at this school, teachers had spoken of their impressive intellect, of their respectful and disciplined behavior in class. And in the several classes taught by Mr. Phelps that they'd attended, Mark and Henry had always had not only top marks, but questions and comments of an intelligence and insightfulness to shame a college student.

Continuing, Mr. Phelps said, "The main body of the SS was the Allgemeine-SS, or General-SS. These were the policemen, the bodyguards, the security agents. Under the leadership of Heinrich Himmler, the SS began to expand swiftly through the 1930's. In 1932 they added their first 'secret police' agency, the SD; Sicherheitsdienst, or Security Service. 1933 saw the biggest additions, with the creation of the Geheimestaatspolizei- most of you will know them as the dreaded Gestapo- and the Nazi Party's personal army, the Waffen-SS."

A knowledgeable man even among other academics, Mr. Phelps could now see he had the entire class spellbound. Much of it was due to his public speaking ability, and to Phelps' passion for an objective, insightful study of history and a constant search for new lessons and knowledge gained from past events.

And this section of history was especially important; young men were the first to get caught up in any rising political cause, and the Nazis had realised the power of having youth on their side more than almost any other group in history.

From his own studies, from the reading of countless books and articles, Richard Phelps had concluded one thing with absolute certainty- the Nazi Party was not some fork-tailed devil arisen from Hell with the smell of brimstone fresh on it. Its evil, insidious and blacker than the darkest night though it was, was not so easy to see in a defeated, humiliated Germany, longing for the days when its Kaiser and its Army had stood tall, stood proud, and apologized to no one.

The Nazi Party had come along in troubled times, when the Great Depression was hitting Germany ten times harder than America- for at least America had won the recent war- and the communists had gangs all over the country. The Nazis had promised order, they had promised peace. They had promised to rebuild the Army, rejuvenate the Navy, and make Germany a respected and feared nation once again. Was it any surprise, then, that young men had flocked to the ranks of the Hitler Youth, SA, and SS by the thousands, the millions? Was it any surprise that the Nazis' evil had been hidden to these young men until the very last?

Henry Evans had a hand up. Nodding to him, Mr. Phelps said, "Yes, Henry?"

Looking at Mr. Phelps, Henry asked intently, "Sir, I wanted to know more about the Waffen-SS. What were they like? Who were they; who did they recruit?"

Mark, from the way his gaze was riveted on Mr. Phelps at the head of the classroom, was equally eager to hear the answer to this one.

Mr. Phelps responded in his best style; with accuracy and forthrightness. He was straightforward, and wanted his students to know the truth. So he said, "The Waffen-SS, or Armed-SS, were the military wing of the Nazi Party. Picture them as the Nazi Party's answer to the German Army. They were meant to be the same thing, only better; better infantrymen, better tankers and artillerymen, and above all, better warriors. The German Army had a centuries-old code of honor and chivalry to go by, decades upon decades of tradition. The Waffen-SS threw out the book and wrote a new one from scratch, and from the start their recruits were taught to be extremely aggressive, absolutely unforgiving.

"This was all the idea, of course," Phelps added. "When the war began in 1939, the Waffen-SS took heavy casualties in every country they invaded. Their tactics were clumsy and inept, with no veteran generals to guide their hand. Instead, they relied on their own fanaticism, on a total refusal to retreat. This cost them many men at first, but by 1944, by the time the Allies invaded Normandy, the Waffen-SS had learned some hard lessons, and in their ranks stood some of the toughest, most hardened soldiers of the war."

"And who did they recruit?" Mr. Phelps said, repeating Henry's question. Pointing at right at Henry, Phelps said simply, "You."

The class was shocked, not knowing what to think, but Henry didn't appear bothered or offended. Instead, he was thoughtful, quiet for some time before responding.

"Blond hair… blue eyes," Henry murmured, then looked up at Mr. Phelps. "You mean they recruited young men, sir. Men of Aryan heritage."

"Exactly," Mr. Phelps nodded, pleased that- as always- one of his finest-ever pupils had grasped the concept he was getting at. "Do you mind, Henry?"

Understanding again, Henry shook his head. "Not at all, sir."

"Everyone," Mr. Phelps said, "Look at Henry for a moment. Go on, he doesn't mind, he's used to it." The class, knowing well of Henry's love for attention and the limelight, laughed, and for a couple of moments everybody looked over at Henry, noting his considerable height, athletic build, and- indeed- his very much Aryan appearance.

"That's the answer to your question, Henry, in a nutshell," Mr. Phelps said. "The Waffen-SS was meant to be not only an elite military force, one that would surpass the old and tradition-bound German Army in every way, but a force of pure Germans. They were to be Hitler's supermen. The first recruits of the 1930's were subjected to the strictest standards; in order to even be considered for enlistment, you had to have documentation proving three generations of pure German heritage. And since the Nazis held the blonde-haired, blue-eyed German to be the best of the best, those recruits were prized most of all.

"I asked the class to look at you, Henry, not to upset you, or suggest you would have wanted anything to do with the Nazis. I pointed you out, because you're the young man they'd have most wanted to draw in. They'd have wanted to recruit all of you!" Mr. Phelps said with a sweep of his hand, encompassing the whole class.

"Every one of you. Young ladies could not join the SS at all, since the Nazis believed a woman's role was to remain at home. But you boys? The Nazis would've been doing everything in their power to get you to join their youth organization, the Hitler Youth, or better yet, the Waffen-SS. The Nazis believed that controlling the young meant controlling the future, and at the head of this future, they wanted blonde-haired, blue-eyed men, mercilessly smashing whatever got in the way of Hitler's plan for a Thousand-Year Reich."

The class was stunned. They were paying attention now, all right. Even Mark and Henry were silent, both clearly impressed by this, thinking about all of it in detail.

Noting the class was getting towards its end, Mr. Phelps asked, "Are there any questions, comments? Now is the time."

"I have one," Henry Evans said, his face oddly tense. He looked eager to say what was on his mind; so eager, in fact, that he appeared ready to spring out of his seat.

"Go ahead, Henry," Mr. Phelps said. The class could never fail to benefit from what Henry or his brother might have to say.

Practically jumping up, Henry blurted out, "It's a lot of crap, sir." Normally Mr. Phelps would have objected to swearing, but Henry didn't stop for even a moment. Quickly taking on a tone of real passion in his voice, Henry said, "The Nazis never stopped talking about how superior these Aryans were, how much better blond-haired, blue-eyed men were than everyone else. But all those big-shots- Göring, Bormann, Himmler, Göbbels, even Hitler- they weren't 'Aryans' themselves! It's a lie, and I bet they knew it was. The Nazis got so much wrong, all starting with this business about blond-haired, blue-eyed people being superior. They-we- aren't. It's not true. We're no better than anybody."

The class was absolutely spellbound; they could all see the fire in Henry's eyes, see the passion in his voice. Anthony Summers was staring at Henry like he'd grown two heads; never in his life had he imagined Henry held such strong beliefs about the Nazis.

Mr. Phelps could hardly have been more pleased. He'd always admired Henry Evans as a student, and as an athlete. He was head-and-shoulders above his peers at both, and never gave up. Not in the ice rink, not on the twenty-yard-line, and not in the classroom, no matter what class it was. He never gave up on girls, either; even teachers knew Henry was quite a lady-chaser.

But more than merely admiring Henry for his athletic and academic talent, Phelps appreciated Henry for his honesty, his decency and respect. He never was a source of trouble in class, and neither was Mark. Today, though, was a true triumph for him, and Mr. Phelps couldn't have been more proud. On appearances and physical build alone, Henry could have joined the Waffen-SS, no questions asked. Hitler and all his goons would've been falling over each other to get him, to entice Henry into joining the NSDAP and its plans for a new Germany.

And here Henry was, before his peers, fiercely denouncing the madman and his foolish beliefs about racial superiority. As much as Mr. Phelps knew of the history of Germany before and during World War II, he couldn't have made a bigger impression on Henry's classmates if he'd talked for five hours.

But then Henry's firm, serious features broke into a smirk, and he added, "Hitler wasn't far off, though." With a brief glance at down at Mark, seated to his left, Henry said, "I think auburn-haired people can be just as superior."

That did it. That ended the moment, snapped the spell. The entire class cracked up, and Henry triumphantly sat back down, slapping palms with a chuckling Tony Summers and a delighted Mark.

"Fuck yeah," Mark said, laughing his ass off. "Oh, man! I knew that was comin', dude!"

"That's right," Henry grinned. "Aryans and Auburns."

Hardly able to conceal his bitter disappointment, Mr. Phelps raised his hands and loudly called for quiet. It took a try or two, but finally the laughter died down.

I should've figured a joke was coming, Mr. Phelps thought bitterly. Maybe he'd been giving Henry and his brother a bit too much credit all this time. Well, "too much credit" wasn't quite the right word. He'd been expecting too much. Henry and his brother Mark were superb students (usually) and outstanding athletes, but they were still teenagers. It was a bit too much to expect them to always take these discussions seriously.

"I need to rephrase what I said before," Mr. Phelps said with forced calm, his eyes sternly surveying the class. "This is a time for serious discussion."

"Believe me, Mr. Phelps," Henry said into the quiet of the classroom, leaning forward in his chair and locking eyes with his teacher. "I've never been more serious."

It was unnerving, the way Henry Evans was looking at him. That hard, direct stare, that solemn expression- how had the immature, cocky jock gone away so fast? It was like Henry had gone from being one, to another, to yet a third person, and all in the span of a few minutes. How was that even possible?

The bell rang just moments later, and Mr. Phelps was saved the need to offer a reply. For once was glad for this, because he didn't have one.


	28. Chapter 28- Home Again

**Chapter XXVIII- Home Again**

* * *

Henry loved the black Hummer he owned. It was his favourite toy, second only to Lisa, though the blond teen had more interest in hearing what his truck had to say. But the massive, hulking black truck was more than a little noticeable, and on the occasions where Henry and Mark felt like going up and visiting Fleetwood Hall in the hills on the other side of Rockbridge, they usually took something more subtle. Some days it was Mark's Grand Cherokee, others it was Mark's silver Eagle Talon. Today, they were going in Henry's golden Eagle Vision, the four-door sedan that had helped them both get rid of Connie, shipping her all the way down to Virginia and Chatham Hall.

The drive across town was short and comfortable, the Eagle's heater keeping the two teenagers warm, and a pleasant, lively conversation passing the time. Henry remarked smugly that he had not masturbated since freshman year; Mark claimed the same thing. After a brief pause, the two teenagers looked at each other and said simultaneously, "You fuckin' liar," then burst out laughing. It was true, though, and they both knew it.

After all, why would guys as popular as Henry and Mark have any need for that, when they had girls at their school almost literally lining up to do it for them?

On a visit to the Hall in their freshman year, Henry and Mark had each discovered they could barely slip under the gate, due to their swiftly-increasing height and physical strength. But their bond with the house was increasing; every day Henry and Mark each felt their sense of calm and even happiness within the cavernous old mansion increasing. Not only did they hold no fear of the enormous house, but Henry and Mark each quite enjoyed being around it. Around the time Henry and Mark got rid of their virginity at that famous victory party, the front gates of Fleetwood Hall began opening for them.

Parking the Eagle at a shopping center maybe a mile away, Henry and his brother put on their fur jackets and began the walk, soon heading off the road and into a stretch of woods that led right up to the brick walls that guarded the grounds of the house. A secondary gate stood at a groundskeeper's entrance, the smaller road to it overgrown with plants and forgotten decades ago. It was there, far more than at the grand front entrance, that Henry and Mark made their way into the grounds of Fleetwood Hall now.

Tramping through the woods on their way uphill to the mansion, Henry and Mark soon returned to discussing World War II, and the fascination it- and Nazi Germany in particular- had held for them for so many years.

"The Waffen-SS had no rules, that's what I love about 'em," Henry said enthusiastically. "I mean, think about it. They basically had two rules. One, never kill someone without a reason."

Surprised, Mark looked at his brother oddly. "Well, what's Rule Two?"

Henry grinned. "You can always find a reason to kill someone."

Mark threw his head back and laughed, richly enjoying Henry's company and humor as always. He felt a little thrill any time he spent an afternoon with his blond sibling like this; it reminded him how far he'd come, how much he'd gained, from the self-righteous coward he'd once been.

"I'd have joined the Waffen-SS in a heartbeat; Mr. Phelps was right about that," Henry said. "Do you think he knew?"

"Nah," Mark said, shaking his head. "Mr. Phelps doesn't know you were an SS-Sturmbannführer in a past life."

Henry chuckled. "No, I guess not."

"It must've been amazing," Mark said, "Fighting in that fucking war. On any side, really, but especially the German side. They had the first assault rifle-"

"The STG-44," Henry interjected-

"And the first jet and rocket fighters," Mark continued.

"The Messerschmitt Me-262 and the Me-163," Henry added.

"And the Waffen-SS were the best fucking soldiers Hitler had. They got to do all the kickass shit back then. If we'd joined the SS, man, we could've gone anywhere from Moscow to Normany to Dachau. We could've fucked shit up all over Europe."

"I think I'd have liked that," Henry said quietly. "I think the SS would've… appreciated somebody like me."

Mark looked at his brother oddly then; Henry's voice had a hint- just a hint- of either sadness or regret in it then. Not regret, surely- Henry was, by all observation and by his own admission, happier now than he'd ever been in his life.

But Mark was a smart young man. He knew from talking to Henry over the years, from observing him, and from his own research at local libraries, that Henry was a born sociopath, one of the few who actually was brought into the world unable to feel most human emotions. Henry, when Mark had first met him, had been a boy missing a few pieces; literally incapable of feeling guilt, remorse, or even love.

Today, of course, things were different. Henry could feel sorry for Mark about something- like the fact that Amy was causing Mark such trouble by not giving him what he deserved, for example. And Henry genuinely loved Mark, beyond any doubt. The powerful bond between them had made Mark tougher, harder and stronger- but it had also made Henry a little warmer.

Of course, Henry knew what he was. Only through his friendship with Mark had he been able to know for sure, but Henry had said more than once that he'd suspected what he was for a long time. He had little risk of being found out as he grew up, but feared detection and persecution deeply. Had the society they lived in only known- had 1990's America had a chance to learn about Henry Evans, and who he actually was- the blond teenager would have spent the rest of his life in a padded cell, occasionally being poked and prodded in a lab.

What a waste that would have been.

Throwing an arm around his broad shoulders, Mark gave Henry an affectionate hug. It would have caused a lesser boy considerable discomfort, but since Henry's muscle and strength rivaled Mark's, he only noticed the gesture of affection, of reassurance.

"The SS would've loved to have you," Mark said firmly. "You'd have made General within ten years."

"SS-Oberstgruppenführer," Henry corrected smugly. "Colonel Group Leader, if you want it in English."

"Whatever you call it, I think they'd have been in a big hurry to get us both there," Mark said confidently. "Think about it. We're tall, we're strong, we love to fight, and we're afraid of nothing. What could the SS have possibly not liked about us?"

"Not much," Henry allowed. "You know what I would've wanted to do? More than anything, if I'd been around then?"

"What's that?" Mark asked.

"Go to Dachau," Henry said simply. "It was the first camp, and all the rest were modeled after it." His eyes brightened as he talked, and Henry's voice took on a note of passion, of excitement. "Maybe I could've gone during the war, shown the guards how to really crush those Juden under our heel. Or maybe after! You remember that episode from the 'Twilight Zone', the one where that SS-Hauptsturmführer goes back to Dachau after the war, and doesn't feel sorry at all?"

"I loved that episode," Mark said, grinning.

"Bullshit ending, though," Henry said, dismayed.

"Why?" Mark asked. He hadn't seen the episode 'Death's-Head Revisited' in a while, so he wasn't sure exactly what Henry meant.

"The Captain was broken in the end. Driven mad by the ghosts of the prisoners." Henry shook his head in disapproval. "He seemed strong… but a true SS man would have kicked their ghostly asses back into the past, pissed on their mass graves, and sat on the front porch of the Detention building for the rest of the afternoon, smoking a cigarette and not giving a shit."

"Nice," Mark said, grinning from ear to ear. Henry was really brilliant sometimes, insightful and humorous in ways "normal" people, even grown men, could never hope to be.

"I'd have wanted to fight in Normandy," Mark said. "The Panzer Division."

"Which one?" Henry said, smirking. "You should read up on your history, Mark. The Reich had many panzer divisions deployed to Normandy in the summer of 1944. Some of their best, in fact."

"The Führer was a fool," Mark said, shaking his head. "Had he just sent the SS and their panzers in the second the Allies landed, there could have been Tiger and Panther tanks smashing the landing craft right there on the beaches."

"True," Henry said. "Do you think you could've killed them all? For every one hundred Tigers the SS or German Army had, the Allies had 50,000 Sherman tanks, and the Soviets had 100,000 T-34's."

"Mass-produced garbage, all of them," Mark said with a sweep of his hand. "Give me the Tiger any day. Enough 88 shells and a full tank of gas, I could've wiped out every Allied tank brigade in Normandy."

"But the 12th SS didn't have Tigers," Henry pointed out. "You said they were your favourite."

"Of course," Mark said. "Me, I'd have fought on foot anyway."

"Me too," Henry said, nodding with vigor. "Killing with tanks and artillery is amazing, but the infantry is the best way to go. You get to do it up close; it's more personal that way."

"The 12th was perfect," Mark said firmly. "They had fearless Hitler Youth teenagers who'd been raised on the Nazi Party's propaganda, led by veterans of the Eastern Front. Youthful fanaticism directed by experienced warriors. It's fucking perfect."

"I think Normandy would've been a perfect time to be fighting in the SS, especially in a Panzergrenadier unit," Henry said. "You know why?"

"Why?" Mark asked in response, though he already knew.

"Had the Nazis beaten the Allies at Normandy, they would've pretty much won the war. After Eisenhower and Churchill spent all that time blowing D-Day up to look like the start of this "Great Crusade" and all, the folks at home would've been pissed if Normandy was a failure. The Allies would've probably just given up and let the Russians fight Hitler on their own."

"Good," Mark nodded, thinking of the state of perpetual war that the Reich remained in, even as late as 1964, in Robert Harris' "Fatherland", a favourite of Henry and Mark's. "I'd have hated for the war to end before I got enough kills."

"How many's 'enough'?" Henry asked, chuckling at the idea.

"Well," Mark said with a smirk, "I'm not sure either. I'd better keep going, and I'll let you know when I get there."

"There is no such thing as having 'killed enough', Mark," Henry declared. "The Nazis understood that. You know that, as much as Hitler hated Jews himself, even he probably knew they were just a good scapegoat?"

"Pretty damn good, too," Mark laughed.

"No, really," Henry said. "Think about it. Hitler needed to get Germany on its feet, get the people united behind him and willing to look the other way while the real men, the SS, did the fun stuff."

Mark just smiled.

"So he needed an enemy. Somebody right there in Germany, who he could blame for Germany losing the last war, and then blame for starting the next one. The Jews were just the best enemy Hitler could point out."

The auburn-haired teen chuckled. "Fuckin' Jews." He paused. "I always wanted to say that."

Henry chuckled, too. "You know what the problem with the Jews was, Mark? It was actually the same thing that was wrong with most Germans back then, too."

"I know," Mark said, nodding. "It's that they were weak. The SS knew better. They shut out their 'compassion', steeled themselves for what needed to be done. All the SS did was realise how to take mankind to the next level."

"'Normal' people are weak," Mark spat. "Gods must be strong."

Henry didn't say anything, not in words. He just threw an around his brother's shoulders and smiled. "That's why you're my brother."

The auburn-haired teen smiled warmly, genuinely pleased. After a few moments of comfortable silence, he said, "I always like it when you say that."

The blond teenager beside him just shrugged, matter-of-factly. "Me, too."

**XX**

Mark had first visited Fleetwood Hall when he was twelve years old. Skinny, bony-shouldered, and just about jumping at his own shadow, the Mark Evans he had been then hadn't even liked Henry that much. Didn't consider him what he was offering to be- not only a friend, but a brother.

Things had changed. So much.

Stepping through the entrance as the massive, heavy and ornately-carved oak wood doors swung open for them, Henry and Mark each took a breath of the house's inside air. It took them both back in an instant; twelve years old, boys just starting to look forward to the changes adolescence would bring, seeking guidance from this old mansion and the presence that had brought it alive.

The cavernous Entrance Hall stood silent and empty, as it always had since the tours had stopped years ago. The diligent efforts of the two Evans boys had dusted it and other rooms off, both figuratively and literally; both Henry and Mark knew their own dusting and cleaning efforts had been nothing next to the revival of the house itself.

It seemed that, the more pain, suffering, and best of all, death that Henry and Mark brought within its walls, the more strength that Fleetwood Hall had for its use. This many years after their first murder within these walls, this long after they had first taken turns raping a girl before killing her, Henry and Mark could now freely use the 1950's-vintage appliances in any of the four kitchens they had found, or draw on the constantly-shifting, seemingly-infinite stores of vintage wine in the titanic cellar, hidden behind a stretch of false wall in the primary, ground-floor kitchen.

There was a sort of routine, now, whenever Henry and Mark visited. For one thing, there was no particular pattern or schedule to when they went to Fleetwood Hall. There never had been. Even when he had gone alone, Henry had done it whenever he felt it was necessary. Henry and Mark left for the Hall, made their necessary cover story and excuses, whenever they felt like it was time for them to go.

Every time they stepped into the entrance hall, Henry and his brother took off their coats and hung them up in a nearby closet. They would take a breath or two, savouring the unique scent and feel of the air in this massive old house. It was the same throughout the seasons, though a little warmer in the summer and a little colder in the winter. But always, the air inside Fleetwood Hall was cool but never cold, warm but never hot, and musty, the smell of an old house, but never moldy or decayed.

And above all else, the moment Henry and Mark stepped inside the front doors- which closed on their own behind them- they felt calmer, safer, more aware of the other's presence and thoughts. They were home.

Pausing to pay their respects to the life-size portrait of Helen Whitmore, the great matriarch and mistress of the house, Henry and Mark headed up the Grand Staircase, turning onto the Corridor, the enormous hallway that ran the entire length of the house on the second floor.

"Mark," Henry said thoughtfully, "How do you feel about that teacher you're fucking?"

"Aside from how good it feels?" Mark sniggered. "I thought that was all that mattered."

"Yeah," Henry laughed, "That's true. Pretty awesome you're doing her and dating Amy at the same time."

"Plus I fucked Sarah Schreuder at that last party," Mark pointed out. "I could have her again anytime I wanted."

"You've come a long way, Mark," Henry said suddenly. "Five years ago, you'd have been interested in a girl's 'personality' or some shit. You wised up quick."

"Thanks," Mark said quietly. It pleased him immensely whenever Henry praised him like this, and made the auburn-haired teen feel very emotional more often than not. He knew he had to say something else, so he added, "You're not doing so bad, yourself."

Henry laughed. "No, I'm not, am I?" He chuckled, thinking of his latest girlfriend. "Lisa thinks I'm banging her 'cause I love her." He shook his head, laughing at the idea. "Whatever."

As they continued down the Corridor, Mark looked at Henry curiously. "Killing or sex?"

The blond teen looked at his brother, confused. "What?"

"Which do you like better? Killing, or sex?"

"Is that a real question?"

The smirk on Henry's face, that cool, icy look in his eyes, made Mark wish- and not for the first time- that he'd been there to see the moment when Henry had drowned that pitiful excuse for a sibling Richard in the bathtub. Mark knew the whole story, of course, and had gladly kept the secret for years. But the delighted look Henry had on his face, anytime and every time the story came up between them, made Mark wish he could've been there to see it.

It would probably have been fun. A lot of fun.

**XX**

After easily making the long climb up one of the spiral staircases to get to the Glass Library's floor, Henry and Mark began making their way down that hallway. Down the hall and just around the corner was the library itself, a massive, dome-shaped room with over a thousand books still waiting patiently in the many book-cases lining its walls.

The Glass Library took its name from the unique material of which it was constructed; milky, quartz-like glass for the inside walls (the outside was brick), clearer, colourless glass for the book-cases, and a sheet of flawless mirror-glass for the floor of the library itself. It was one of Fleetwood Hall's most stunning features, and Henry and Mark considered it the heart of the house, the place where they were always safe, beyond any doubt.

Their sense of regard for the Hall had developed steadily over the years, to the point where today, each teenager considered himself immensely privileged to have ever been shown such favour. Mark, of course, felt an additional sense of gratitude for Henry, for helping force a much-needed change in Mark's personality. Back when he first had come to this place, Mark had been scared of his own shadow. He hadn't known what strength was, or how to use it to get what he wanted in life.

Mark did now. And Henry, the brother with whom he now shared a part of himself, had given him that. Had seen through the frightened little boy Mark had been and believed more in the man Mark could become.

Overcome by a sudden surge of affection for the blond teen beside him, Mark turned and gripped Henry about the middle, hugging him so hard that, if he did this to a weaker boy, it might have broken ribs. Henry made an "Oof!" of surprise as the air rushed out of him, but Mark could tell he felt no pain. When the auburn-haired teen finally relaxed his hold, Henry said gently, "Glad I brought you here?"

"Yes," Mark said, smiling warmly. "I can't say thank you enough."

Henry blushed pink and looked away, but he was clearly pleased. "Glad to," he finally said.

When Mark let go of his sibling at last, Henry added, "You ought to thank this house, you know. Fleetwood Hall's helped you as much as I have, maybe more. All I did was just bring you here."

"And without that," Mark said seriously, "I never could've changed at all." But he paused, considering Henry's words, immediately seeing the point. "But you're right," Mark said. "Fleetwood Hall has given us both a lot." He looked at Henry curiously. "How much do you think it's helped us with?"

"Just about everything," Henry said frankly, as they turned and began their slow, leisurely pace down the hallway. "I know it's helped us physically. Given our muscles and bodies a better chance to develop well, and correctly. It's probably helped our brains develop the same way, so we're mentally stronger because of this place, too."

"It washed out that self-righteous runt in me, too," Mark added, sneering with contempt for his former self. How could he ever have been so weak? It was stunning to even imagine it.

"By taking out some of you, and giving it to me," Henry said. "You have less interest in empathy or sympathy now, because you feel less of it. And I can feel a little more of that- but really, only for you."

Mark nodded, knowing all this was true. He and Henry both felt an immensely powerful sense of gratitude towards this mansion, for the presence dwelling within it and all it had done for them. The slow-but-steady routine of rapes and murders that had occurred here had all been to show their thanks to Fleetwood Hall- as well as for the brothers' own enjoyment. The house had clearly remained pleased with them for all this time, as their sense of strengthening, cleansing and replenishment gained from any visit had remained the same.

But the height of any visit, the part from which Henry and Mark gained the most mentally and physically, was their stop at the Glass Library, to rest beneath the floor. They did today what they'd done for years; entered the library, walked to the center of the room or so, then lay down, side-by-side with maybe a foot of space between them. Henry and Mark then closed their eyes, breathing deeply and regularly.

The period of rest under the glass floor was always calming and enjoyable, especially because of the ability it gave Henry and Mark to communicate telepathically. They had tried and tested this over the years, and proved it true every time. Sometimes, though, because of their shared thoughts and ideas, one of them would produce a dream or vision that Henry and Mark would share. They were so vivid you could sense everything as if it was really there- virtual reality would never be this good, and it had a long time to come before even really existing.

Today, Mark could sense one such vision coming. As he felt the cool, comforting presence of the depths beneath the floor embrace him, Mark could hear the roar of a crowd above him, feel sand beneath his feet. He smiled a little, wondering whether it was himself or Henry that had produced this one. And as Mark calmed himself and fully embraced the approaching vision, he felt the hard, solid weight of a steel broadsword in his hand.

**XX**

Marc stood at one side of the massive coliseum, a thin sheet of sweat coating his skin in the heat. Aside from a circular steel shield on his arm, Legionnaire's boots and some minor armour over the cloth wrapped around his waist, he was naked- a fact that the former Roman Legion officer knew was no doubt very pleasing to the female spectators in the many rows of escalating seats above. Across the arena, also exiting the preparing rooms and moving into the open, was Hadrian. He was identically-dressed, prepared like Marc was to fight in today's gladiator battle. And like Marc, Hadrian carried a steel broadsword, though he made no attempt to raise it as he and Marc locked eyes. After the crowd caught sight of them both, a cheer went up; over a thousand of Rome's citizens, elite and commoners alike, had turned out to see the fight that was coming today.

No one-on-one gladiator duel like this had ever occurred before during the reign of Emperor Nero, and it wasn't likely to happen again very soon. The seats, though hard as rock since that's what they were carved from, were packed- nobody wanted to miss the fun.

From his box, shaded from the hot sun and with a front-row view over the arena below, the Emperor himself began to speak, spreading his arms wide and raising his powerful voice so all the spectators today could hear him. After all, Marc knew this was something the Emperor wanted people to see and hear. He wanted people to remember it.

"Citizens of the Empire," Nero announced, "I speak to you, here at our glorious city of Rome's Coliseum, so you might know the impending fate of two of the most villainous traitors our Empire has ever known. Though they have campaigned bravely on Rome's behalf in Britain, crushing the attempt of would-be dissidents to revolt there, Legion generals and brothers Hadrian and Marc Equitius have been planning for many months now to overthrow the Roman state!"

Many boos and hisses came from the crowd at that, especially from the nobles and aristocrats seated closest to Nero himself. Others merely watched and waited.

The incredible strategic skill, physical strength, and romantic charm of the Equitius brothers was legend throughout the Roman Empire. Legionnaires were awed by their skill and fearlessness in battle, which both Marc and Hadrian richly enjoyed. Enemies feared their very name, and few had ever seen them on a battlefield and lived to tell about it. The women of the Empire who were beautiful enough to have caught Marc or Hadrian's eye gossiped breathlessly of the brothers' stunning good looks, irresistible charm, and their skill and prowess in the bedroom. Anyone who knew anything at all about the Equitius brothers knew there had to be some reason they had let themselves be captured alive when the coup had been found out. They had to have some plan in mind, one more trick or deception to use; you didn't rise to the rank of a general at so young an age without having a plan for just about anything.

If not everything.

But Nero, surrounded by his guards and most loyal advisors and nobles, clearly had no fear of the Equitius brothers today. Stripped of their rank and honours, standing there in the sandy pit of the Coliseum's arena like any other gladiators, they had no chance of trying anything now.

"Their treachery will not be forgiven," Emperor Nero continued, "And for their crimes they have been brought here. Condemned to fight to the death in the arena, the victor of these two brothers will be stripped of Roman citizenship and set free. Alive, but exiled from all the lands of the Empire. If they should refuse to fight, however, then both of them will be executed. Let the fight begin!"

The crowd roared its approval, and down in the arena Hadrian began moving forward, his golden hair flashing in the sun. Marc took his first steps forward as well, widening his stance to lower his center of gravity. The brothers locked eyes, raised their blades, and met at the exact center of the arena, their broadswords meeting with a clang. The crowd continued to cheer them on, shouting out encouragement for their favourite and mockery to the other as the brothers traded blows.

The two former Legionnaires battled fiercely, and Marc's shoulder-length, auburn-brown locks were soon damp with sweat. They were each the other's equal, though; in any form of combat, each of the brothers was just as skilled and powerful as the other. Hadrian never let up his attacks, though, and soon forced Marc back to the wall under the Emperor's box. The screams and shouts of the crowd said they were enjoying every second of this; they were getting the show they'd expected and more.

Lunging forward and slashing his sword at Hadrian's bare chest, Marc forced his brother to retreat momentarily. The golden-haired warrior raised his shield to deflect the blow, and Marc's broadsword clanged hard against the steel shield.

Then Marc took a step back, slipped his hand through the two bands of steel holding the shield to his wrist, and dropped it. His steel broadsword fell from his right hand, meeting the sand of the arena floor with a dull thump.

No words were exchanged, but to the crowd and Hadrian alike, the message was obvious; Marc could not make himself kill his brother. He could not do it, and so it was up to Hadrian to do what he would.

Hadrian looked at his brother for a few moments, then backed up several steps, the crowd screaming in excitement as they sensed what was coming. Marc just stood where he was, not moving even as Hadrian began to sprint forward, uttering a scream of his own at a volume to match the crowd's.

As his brother drew close, Marc continued to hold his ground. He interlaced his hands, holding them out in front of him. Not even slowing for a moment, Hadrian dropped his shield and leaped into the stirrup Marc's hands had created. Most men would have had trouble even holding up Hadrian's weight, a full three hundred pounds of iron-hard muscle, but Marc was gifted with great physical strength himself, and raised Hadrian as high as he could, much to the surprise and awe of the crowd.

When Marc's hands had raised Hadrian above the auburn-haired warrior's head, Hadrian jumped. He flung out his free hand, grasping the marble edge of the top of the arena wall, and pulled himself up, clambering into the Emperor's box. By now, the gloves were coming off; the Emperor's bodyguards, a special cadre of elite Legionnaires who had been specially chosen for honor guard duty in Rome, all moved in at once to intercept the threat.

Down below in the arena, Marc listened in real envy as he heard yells of surprise and anger, and then fear, from the guards. He heard the crash and clang of metal on metal, and before long there wasn't much of that anymore, as Hadrian's blade was cutting into something much softer. But then, from above, came the signal; Marc saw the enormous Roman flag hanging down the wall from the Emperor's box moving, and then looked up to see Hadrian's hand, holding it steady.

Not bothering to retrieve his sword, Marc grasped the thick cloth and rapidly ascended, heaving himself over the top of the wall in not even a minute. Marc grinned at his brother, who though sweaty was not even breathing very hard, one hand holding the flag for Marc and the other holding a sword to Emperor Nero's throat. The guards all lay dead, a bloody mess on the floor; Marc felt a little envious at that, but only a little. The best part had been saved for last.

"You are madmen!" Nero declared. "You're insane, the both of you! This will not last!"

But Marc and Hadrian ignored him. There was no need to give a response. In their many campaigns abroad on Rome's behalf, Marc and Hadrian had become more than just skilled and famed battlefield commanders. They had found that, once or twice out of every hundred, the old rumors, myths and legends were sometimes exactly true. And in the rarest instances, the right person- or persons- could find that location, that artifact, and find there really were no limits to a man's ability to obtain greater power.

There were things the Emperor had been quick-witted enough to find out, like the loyal following Marc and Hadrian had in the Legions and that with enough loyal men, they could launch an uprising and depose the current Emperor. But there had been just as many things- more, even- that Nero had missed. He couldn't have even imagined how far above ordinary men Hadrian and Marc had risen, or what the source of their seemingly-flawless perfection really was. Neither brother took the time to tell him; it was not information the soon-to-be deposed Emperor deserved to know.

Without the slightest change in his expression, Hadrian removed his sword from the Emperor's throat. Nero relaxed just slightly, taking this to mean he still had time to think his way out of this. It couldn't have been more surprising to Nero, then, when Marc moved over and gripped his left arm, and Hadrian put a hand on his right. The two brothers traded victorious grins, then started to pull. It became a tug of war, the stunned crowd watching as the two Equitius brothers pulled one way, then the other, and after perhaps a minute pulled with equal force in both directions, literally ripping the Roman head-of-state apart.

Turning to the crowd, now still and silent in awe, Hadrian and Marc together proclaimed that a new age had arrived for the Roman Empire. They, Marc and Hadrian, would rule the Empire now- not as their Emperors, but as their _gods_!


	29. Chapter 29- The Victory Party

**Chapter XXIX- The Victory Party**

* * *

School let out at 3:45pm every day at Chamberlain, and most students- anyone who was anyone, at least- made their plans for the weekend starting at 4:30 or so in the afternoon. The party at John LaFleur's imposing, manor-like brick, glass, and brass home started at 5:30, giving John barely an hour to complete preparations. At least his parents had begun their drive yesterday night, thank God- and somehow, this time at least, John had managed to dodge being seen by them for any great length of time. The questions that would surely have been asked, had they only seen the damage done to their son's torso- or even his face, up close- were avoided. That was good, because John nearly urinated in his pants from sheer terror, anytime and every time he thought about what Henry had said.

How, if he snitched about his beating, or ever did what caused it again, nobody would ever find his body.

John had liked Henry and his brother for years. He'd chosen to trust them over trusting Scott Shepard, believing they really were good guys, not as bad as some said.

Now, though, John was starting to wonder.

As the time drew closer, John looked around the vast dining room, the living room nearby, and thought of the state those two rooms alone would surely be in by the end of the night. If he was lucky, one kid would piss in a closet somewhere in the house. Another would vomit on one of the hideously-expensive rugs or hardwood floors, and still a third would get a sense of humor and hide a pound of weed somewhere in the house, but not tell John.

The reality, though, was that five more were likely to do the first do things, and dozens yet would do many others. There would be shit, piss, vomit and come all over the damn house. Empty beer bottles and cans by the dozens, wine and vodka bottles lying around half-finished, sometimes still next to the owner. Hormone-driven teen couples would be fucking in every possible spot in the house, and some might not be so courteous as to clean up the mess they made, even if all it ended up being was a lot of sweat.

That was just the regular guests, though. That didn't even include Tony Summers, with his love for rabbit-like fucks with his girlfriend Rachel only rivaled by his adoration of drinking contests. Or Jason Morgan, the big, I'm-number-one jock who considered getting drunk and laid as often as he liked not just a privilege, but a right. That new kid Chris was probably gonna be here, getting initiated into the 'cool' crowd for real.

And then there was Henry and Mark. The Evans brothers.

Mark had spoken to John during lunch today, making it very clear that he and his brother expected "the usual" to be ready for them tonight. Amy Philips had blushed and pretended not to know what they were talking about, while Nicole and Lisa had just exchanged smirks; each had a boy she planned on enjoying tonight. All the cool, popular girls did.

But John had wanted to groan out loud when he heard that requirement added on, atop all the rest. Not only did he have to go out and make arrangements to get all this fucking pot and booze, using cocky little pricks like Andy Cadiz and Martin Brodinsky to make it happen, but now John had needed to meet Henry in the parking lot after school had ended. Around four-thirty, once most everybody else had gone home, Henry had brought his enormous Hummer up alongside John's 442. Ignoring John's efforts to not piss himself, and smirking once or twice when John flinched at a sudden move Henry made, the blond teen handed John some obscenely-expensive silk sheets. Two sets, to be nicely set up in two bedrooms that would be reserved for Mark and Henry tonight.

John knew just what that was for; he wasn't an idiot. He'd gotten laid at these parties plenty of times in the past. Even his first had been at a party, thanks to some introductions and favourable words by Henry and Mark to a hot junior-year girl that sophomore John LaFleur had a crush on.

The Evans brothers didn't drink. They didn't do drugs, aside from smoking at least a pack of cigarettes a week. What they did do, though, was go to these parties, take their girlfriend- or a similarly attractive girl who caught their eye- and fuck their goddamn brains out. The tales of Henry and Mark's sexual exploits and conquests were legend at Chamberlain High; guys wanted to learn how to fuck all night long, like they could, and be as desired by girls. The girls, meanwhile, just hoped Mark or Henry would pick them. It was said that having sex with one of the Evans brothers wasn't just similar to dying and going to Heaven. Word was it was better.

That was all very nice, and John had to admit, he rather liked sex, too. But considering how physically imposing Mark and Henry were, how sweaty they and the girl they were fucking could get, and what a mess they could make of a bed in one night… that part of it was not so much fun. Especially for John, who would have to make the entire house presentable again, once all the horny, drunk, and high teens had sobered up and gone home.

Worst of all, the insult on top of so many insults and injuries, as that Henry had coldly and flatly told John that he was "sitting this one out". No dancing, no drugs, no partying, no nothing. He could sit there in his room and think about how lucky he was not to have been kicked off the team by Coach, arrested by the cops, or killed that night by Henry. So not only would John have to sit the whole thing out, miss out on the fun he was normally entitled to, but he'd have to clean up after everybody else had enjoyed themselves tonight.

After letting the first couple of guests began to arrive, and once all the last arrangements had been made, John disappeared upstairs to his bedroom and sat there, praying that the night would end swiftly. With orders to stay stone-cold-sober the whole time, it didn't look likely.

**XX**

Taking Andrew's advice, Chris parked his Camaro on a small cul-de-sac, a five-minute walk from the LaFleur house. The house itself was actually within walking distance of Chamberlain High, but Chris didn't plan on leaving his car there- especially if he might be staying overnight. As he walked up the suburban, tree-lined neighborhood, looking at all the six-digit houses and their impressive front yards, Chris spun his keys around on one finger, jingling them a little. He wasn't nervous. Not at all.

_Just keep telling yourself that_.

Chris had done all right last time, drinking a beer or two and doing a little dancing- all of which had been completely improvised, made up on the spot. Some of the pretty girls who'd been there seemed to like it okay, though.

But Chris was nervous, and very excited. He'd never really gotten to do things like this before. The amount of alcohol that the popular crowd at this school could get their hands on was stunning, as Chris had seen at the last party, as was their ability to obtain such items as cigarettes and pot. Tony Summers had chatted amiably with Chris one afternoon about the wonders of getting a blowjob while high- an experience, he said, that John LaFleur was also fond of.

And then there were the girls. Chris had almost gaped at all the hot girls in the crowd last time; it was like every girl at Chamberlain that he'd ever looked at twice was there. There were mostly upperclassmen, guys and girls, but a few sophomores and the occasional freshman would get invited now and then, Chris had heard. Again, the cheery Italian playboy Anthony Summers had given Chris some advice here:

"Bone a freshman," Anthony had said. "Or more to the point, do a virgin. Seriously, man. There's nothing more fuckin' fun than screwing a girl who has no idea what she's doing. No matter what, she'll think you were awesome. You can't lose."

_Yeah_, Chris thought, _Can't lose. Just as long as nobody figures out I'm a goddamn virgin_.

Well, maybe he could take care of that today. Chris knew he was a good-looking guy, and word definitely seemed to be getting around that the Evans brothers liked him. After all, Chris was a regular guest at their table at lunch, and up-and-coming juniors like Andre Cadiz were even sucking up to Chris a bit. Not bad, considering that- for now- Chris didn't even play on a sports team. That seemed almost vital for popularity at this school, for guys at least. Girls, it seemed, mostly just needed to be confident, good-looking, and willing to sleep with boys.

As Chris reached the front door of the LaFleur house and rang the doorbell, he tried to quiet the butterflies in his stomach. When he found that wasn't going to happen, he resolved to calm them another way. What his own courage couldn't do for his nerves, a good glass of wine would certainly take care of. Chris was going to have fun tonight, one way or the other.

And as for his parents? Chris had said he'd be out with friends until Saturday. Not a lie, and no more than they needed to know. Chris had gotten that advice from Andrew, too.

**XX**

During the first hour or so, John stayed locked in his room. He spoke to no one, and once he heard Henry Evans' voice downstairs- and nearly pissed his pants in fear- John didn't even dare leave his room long enough to go down the hall to use the bathroom. He lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, wondering over and over how any of this could've happened. It was infuriating, confusing- and it made John very sad. He'd liked Henry and his cousin- brother, for a long time now- for many years. He'd hung out with them, smoked cigarettes with them, talked about girls and cars and everything else with them. And now he was covered in bruises and still healing his battered nose, every bit of it done by Henry Evans. John had not even dared to resist. It just would've made things worse.

After two hours, John's bladder was about ready to burst. The ache was horrible, and the pain was becoming quite real. Giving up at last, John moved quietly to his door, opened it, and damn near felt his bladder let go when he found himself face-to-face with Henry Evans.

"John," Henry said warmly, "How's it going?"

"Can it wait, man?" John said uneasily. "I gotta take a piss."

"Well, that's fine," Henry said equably. "I was just coming up here to talk with you."

"What for?" John asked, almost ready to urinate on the floor. Oh, God this hurt so bad.

"Lisa and I need your room."

John gaped, shocked beyond words. Was there no limit to how far this was going to go? Hadn't his punishment on Wednesday been enough?

"But this is my room!" John half-shouted, frightened but still indignant. This was his goddamned room, where he had kept his belongings, slept of his illnesses, screwed his girlfriends, and smoked pot for the very first time. John had lived in this grand house all his life, and this maroon-carpeted room was his one safe place in the world. To have Henry using it for banging Lisa all damn night was unthinkable.

"Oh," Henry said calmly, "I'm positive I didn't hear that right."

"But-but I prepared those two guest rooms!" John exclaimed, exasperation at all the hours he had spent getting the house ready to be righteously trashed boiling to the surface. He was scared, sure, but he had to draw a line on this. At least, he had to try.

"You did," Henry nodded. "But I felt like coming up here and seeing if me and my girl could borrow your room for a while." Henry paused. "If that's all right with you."

John stared, and abruptly Henry slammed him against the wall, and a hand gripped John's crotch so tightly he actually whimpered from the pain. It wasn't just the pressure on his balls, but the fact that his need to pee was now at a physically painful stage, and Henry was doing nothing but making it worse.

"I said," Henry growled, "Is that all right with you?"

"Yeh," John gasped finally, giving in yet again. "That's cool. Go ahead."

"Sure," Henry smiled, relaxing right away. "I'll be going downstairs to get Lisa in a few. When I'm back, you better be someplace else."

"I will," John nodded. "Can I go now?"

Henry grabbed John by the neck and threw him into the hallway, staring coldly down as his blond friend crashed to the hardwood floor.

"I'll let Wednesday go after tonight," Henry said flatly. "But you better behave."

Then he stepped over John and headed back downstairs, where loud music had been playing and the steady babble of conversation and the clanking of beers had been going on for two hours.

John LaFleur jumped up and bolted for the hallway restroom, slamming the door and unzipping his pants in a big hurry. He pissed into the toilet bowl for what seemed like forever, then waited until he heard Henry and Lisa come upstairs, and the door to his room- his own damn room- close. After that, John could guess the rest, and it made him sick.

The blond LaFleur boy, whose natural hair colour was black, headed downstairs, feeling more weary and alone than he'd ever imagined he could. He sat down at the makeshift bar in the kitchen, at the far end where nobody would bother him. John was normally not much of a drinker, but tonight was different. He picked up a liter of Grey Goose vodka and started drinking, and not long after that he started to cry.

**XX**

Chris Marshal was sitting at the marble-topped kitchen bar in the LaFleur's kitchen/dining room, a space large enough to hold a small family without trouble, calming his high-strung nerves with another beer when somebody elbowed their way over to him. Chris spilled most of his beer and swore violently, but when he looked for the offending party, he saw John LaFleur wobbling into the tall chair on his right. John's crisp blue eyes were watery and sad, and his pinkish-tinged, pale cheeks were moist from crying.

"Uh, hey," Chris said hesitantly, shocked to see John LaFleur in such a state. He normally seemed to spend his days smoking and driving that 442 of his, or hanging out with his cheerleader girlfriend, Cindy. To see one of the coolest guys at Chamberlain, and the Evans brothers' oldest friend at that, looking so utterly miserable was nothing less than appalling.

"You okay, man?" Chris asked, starting to become concerned when John didn't reply for a full minute. But the other teen just took in a long, slow breath, then sighed, his head drooping until his forehead bumped on the counter.

"So!" John exclaimed, abruptly sitting straight up. "You're the cool redhead, man. New guy. The ginger. Chris! On his way up."

"Yeah," Chris said with a shrug. "I guess so."

"I was, too, once," John said, then groaned. "Oh, God… I think I'm gonna puke."

Suddenly feeling a need to comfort the other teen, Chris put an arm around John's shoulder. Giving it a little squeeze, he said, "It's all right. Just hang in there."

"I _am_," John said firmly. He stayed very still for a while, probably battling the urge to vomit up all the alcohol in his system. Then he shrugged off Chris' arm, gently but with surprising firmness for a drunk teenager.

Chris was about to get up, hoping he didn't have to spend the evening hanging out with a drunken John LaFleur, when the blond teen suddenly reached out and jerked Chris back in his seat. He might have had a sensitive, almost effeminate look to him, but John LaFleur was strong. Chris sat.

"Listen," John whispered, his voice taking on a terrible urgency, as though he had a vital message to impart and not much time in which to tell it. "Listen to me, Chris, man. I like you. You're a cool guy. So I want you to answer me this. Have you ever gotten fucked?"

"Well," Chris said, making an effort to sound casual, "I got a little back in-"

WHAM. John smacked his bottle of Grey Goose against the counter hard enough to make nearby beers rattle, but when some other boys and their 'dates' looked his way John just stared back until they found somewhere else to look.

"Not. Like. That." John spat out, sounding very angry. "Don't be- donna be fuckin' with me," John slurred. He swayed in his seat, and suddenly the sadness returned. "Listen, man," John said, sounding close to tears. "Have you ever been fucked over by somebody you trusted? Ever been hit where it hurts by guys, you thought were your friends?"

Chris sat silent in his chair, staring wide-eyed at John. What the hell had happened to get him like this? What was he even talking about? The John LaFleur that Chris had met when he came to Rockbridge was a chill guy, calm and quite happy about his status in school. Plenty of money, a nice car, muscles the girls liked to look at, pussy every weekend if he wanted it- so far as Chris knew, that was John's life. And yet here he was, plugging away a whole liter of vodka like he was gonna keep it up all night.

"What did I _do_?" John sobbed, burying his face on his hands. "What the fuck _happened_, man? What went _wrong_?"

"Hey, Chris," Jason Morgan said, smirking as he wandered over, waving a hand in greeting. "Dude. Don't go hanging out with that fa-"

With absolutely stunning speed and coordination, John LaFleur stood up, corked the mostly-empty Grey Goose bottle, and socked Jason in the stomach with it. Caught off guard, Jason doubled over and coughed, but recovered quickly. "All right, you motherfucker," Jason hissed, "There goes your ass." He threw his beer at John, splashing him with it, and laughed loudly on purpose. Jason loved a show, and he knew a good number of partygoers were starting to pay attention.

"I'm gonna _ff_-_fuck_ you up," John growled, swaying on his feet but giving Jason a look that could have frozen the Caribbean. "I don't have to take this _shit_ from _you_, Jason. Not in my fucking _house_, man. Fuck that."

"You couldn't do a thing to _me_, loser," Jason laughed, enjoying the spectacle. He had never really liked John that much, but now he was actually surprised at how much fun it was, seeing John LaFleur in pain.

John growled something unintelligible about Jason's mother, and lunged forward. Before he even knew what he was doing, Chris got in the way, and the bottle smacked hard on his shoulder. There were looks and cries of surprise, and both John and Jason were now staring at the red-haired kid with the grown-out buzzcut like he was a creature from another planet.

"Get outta the way, Chris," John spat. "I'm gonna fuck his shit up!"

"Bullshit!" Jason spat back, and that made John even more furious. Chris struggled to keep the two apart for a minute, but finally he got their attention again. "Look, guys," Chris said with effort, "We're here to have fun, aren't we? Isn't this what this whole thing's about?"

"Fuck yeah it is," Jason agreed, easily enough. John just glowered at the floor, then at Jason, then at Chris. "Sure it is," John said.

"Then let's have some fun!" Chris exclaimed. "If a guy wants to drink till he pukes, let him! If a guy wants to party, let him!"

"My man, Chris!" Jason cried, his anger replaced by a certain delight at seeing the newcomer to the crowd acting so cocky. If he turned out to be less of a pussy than most of the kids in this school, and if he wasn't as much of a bitch as John, Chris Marshal might be worth teaching a few things to, after all. Jason raised his hand for a high-five, and Chris slapped it in return. The crowd that had been watching relaxed, many noting Chris' behavior with approval.

"Hey, Chris!" Anthony Summers called, making his way over as well. "Been looking for you all night, man!"

"Hey," Jason said with a shrug, "I got pussy to hit. You take care of this guy, okay, Tony?" The playboy-athlete nodded agreeably, and Jason was gone as quickly as he'd appeared.

"So," Anthony said with a big grin, "I got somebody wants to hang out with you a little, man."

"Who?" Chris asked, his breath drawing short as he guessed from Anthony's tone that this 'someone' might be a girl. Maybe a girl who had a crush on him.

"Nicole Miles, hot chick with the dark brown hair. She hangs with Henry's girlfriend a lot. You know her?"

"I'd like to," Chris said with a cocky smile. "Hey," he asked suddenly, "Did she say anything about me?"

"Why don't you go ask her yourself?" Anthony shrugged, pointing across the room to where, indeed, Nicole Miles was sitting on a couch in jeans and a sky-blue t-shirt, drinking a beer and looking absolutely gorgeous. She spotted Chris looking at her and smiled, and Chris felt something in him flutter madly as he smiled back.

"You know," Chris said with sudden confidence, "I think I will."

Passing a beer into his hand, Anthony Summers grinned under that mess of black, short-cut Italian hair. "Just be cool, man. Ask if she wants to go someplace quiet."

Heading around the dance floor and across the room to join her, Chris sat down beside Nicole, being as casual as he could and hoping desperately that he didn't look nervous about it. Briefly, he glanced back across the room to where John had been sitting, but the LaFleur boy had vanished. Maybe he'd gone somewhere that he could be left alone. Chris hoped so; he liked John, and it was upsetting to see him the way he'd been tonight.

"How's it going?" Chris asked with a smile, making himself pay attention to the good-looking girl beside him. "Like the party?"

"Yeah," Nicole Miles said with a shrug. "All that dancing's not really my thing, though."

"Me neither," Chris said, immediately deciding to agree with just about anything Nicole said. A girl with a body like her, with a waist, chest and legs like that, was worth agreeing with any day.

"I'm Chris," the redhead teen said, holding out his hand. "Chris Marshal."

"I know you're Chris Marshal," Nicole said, almost smirking. "I'm friends with Lisa Doyle, remember? Henry's girlfriend? She keeps track of all the cute new guys at school."

"Oh," Chris laughed as he blushed pink, "I'm cute, then?"

"I didn't say Lisa had been paying any attention to you," Nicole added, laughing a little. "But then, she is dating Henry Evans."

"I'm not too bad-looking myself," Chris bragged. "I box him in the gym sometimes, you know, when Henry, Mark and the guys go there to work out."

"Doesn't Henry beat you up every time?" Nicole asked with frank curiosity, then chuckled again at the awkward look on Chris' face. "I was kidding," she said, setting a hand on Chris' arm. Chris noticed.

"Are you _gay_ or something?"

Chris stared. "Uh. Uh, what?"

"You were hanging out with John LaFleur by the bar," Nicole said. "Had your arm around him and all that. What was that about? Are you gay?"

"N-no!" Chris stammered, almost seeing his chances for the night slipping away before him. "Hell no, I'm not."

Nicole paused then, considering the sincerity of Chris' response. Her eyes flicked up and down the redheaded boy sitting next to her. Chris felt very hot around the neck all of a sudden, and hoped Nicole wouldn't notice the boner he felt in his pants.

"Well," Nicole said finally, sitting much closer to Chris now, "Do you think you could prove it?"

Looking over at her, barely inches away, Chris' mind and body were in a whirlwind. He had absolutely no idea what was going on, or what he was even doing right now, but one way or another Chris hoped it wouldn't end too fast. The redheaded teen's heart was beating fast, and he felt like between the adrenaline and the beers, he was having a truly ass-kicking night. He had no idea what was going to happen next, but he could tell what the right move was.

Almost from a distance, Chris heard himself say with a charming smile on his face:

"You wanna go someplace quiet?"

**XX**

Mark Evans sat in the private study of Mr. LaFleur, a room he had made damn sure nobody else would try to use, his arm around Amy Philips as they cuddled on the ridiculously expensive leather couch there. The auburn-haired teen was in an excellent mood tonight. Amy had finally talked her parents into letting her go out with Mark tonight, though on the condition that she be back home before midnight. Mark had accepted that without even a bit of argument this time; Amy had finally decided to come to a party, and that was real progress. Besides, Sarah Schreuder was somewhere around, and Mark always had some girl or another trying to get his attention at parties like this. He could afford to take some time with Amy, because she was probably not going to be the last pussy he spent time on tonight.

"Mark," Amy said as she nestled into the cradle made by his powerful right arm around her shoulders, "I want to ask you something."

"Sure, babe," Mark said, kissing her neck. She loved that.

"When did you first- you know- have sex?"

The auburn-haired teen drew back slightly, noticing right away that his girlfriend was blushing crimson. "Hey, hey, Amy," Mark said softly, "It's okay. You can ask me whatever you want. It was 9th grade, when I was thirteen."

"Wh-what was it like?"

Mark smiled a little, pleased at where the conversation was going. "It felt good," Mark answered honestly. "I liked it a lot."

"And you've done it, since then. Right?" Amy asked, looking very nervous.

"Sure," Mark said frankly. He didn't add a cockier "Lots of times", though, because he could tell this was not easy for Amy. It wouldn't do to upset her right now.

"Well," Amy said uneasily, "I haven't. I can't, not until I've gotten married."

Kissing her on the cheek, Mark gave his girlfriend's far-less-muscular shoulders a gentle squeeze. "We already talked about that." Mark could tell he was really turning on the charm tonight; and why not? If things went well, he'd be getting laid sooner than expected tonight. Amy looked closer to giving in than she'd ever been.

"I-I just wanted to tell you… how much it means to me. Giving up all that."

Mark looked back at her silently, his eyes thoughtful.

"I know guys like you and Henry are used to… doing things like that."

The auburn-haired teen shrugged; that was true enough. Now for some extra charm, though. "Henry and I can't seem to find any girls who really like us for who we are," Mark said, sounding wistful, even regretful. "I mean, sleeping with a girl is one thing. It's fun, it feels good, but Amy, a relationship that's all about sex doesn't last." He paused. "Maybe that's why my brother and I can't seem to stay with a girlfriend for long. I guess things just don't work out that way for us. We're too popular for our own good."

"Don't say that," Amy said with sudden firmness, looking at Mark in the dimly-lit study. "You just need to find the right girl, one who really cares about you, and doesn't just like how you look."

"What's the matter with how I look?" Mark asked playfully, flexing his biceps a little for effect.

"Nothing," Amy laughed, giggling like a little girl as Mark nuzzled her under her chin, kissing her neck. She sighed, leaning her head back so he could do it. Amy wanted him. She knew that, and sometimes really wished she could marry Mark right now, so she could learn for herself what all the shouting was about. But she couldn't. It just wouldn't be right.

Instead, while Mark occupied himself with gently massaging Amy's neck with his lips, Amy slipped her right hand toward the joining of Mark's legs. She felt terribly nervous, doing this, but Lisa had said boys loved it. She touched him, gently rubbing that central place on his jeans, and Mark looked up at her, eyes wide with surprise. "Amy?" he asked. "What- what are you doing? I don't want us to, you know, go too far."

"It's okay," Amy stammered out. "I-I want to do something, Mark. I love you. It isn't fair that I ask so much of you. I want to give you something back."

"Well," Mark said slowly, "Don't do a single thing you don't want to. Okay? I don't want you feeling like I'm, you know, pressuring you."

"It's okay," Amy said again, blushing and looking away. But her hand stayed where it was on Mark's jeans.

**XX**

It was a clumsy business, making out like they did. The groping and kissing was both aggressive and passionate, and Amy could tell Mark was enjoying this immensely. Once he set a hand between her legs, gently rubbing her there, and Amy thought she would melt. She gasped, asking him not to- because Amy knew her resistance would weaken very badly if she let him do that again.

For what could have been only minutes or more than an hour, Amy kissed with Mark on that supremely comfortable leather couch. Her tongue delighted in meeting and dancing back and forth with his, and it was too enjoyable to stop. Yet Amy wanted to show Mark she meant what she'd said, and show him without words that a compromise could be found. She still could not bring herself to do what Lisa had so characteristically suggested- putting him in her mouth- but what she could do was close. It was extremely difficult to undo Mark's belt and unbutton and unzip his jeans while making out with him, though. Impossible, actually- Mark briefly broke away to help, and Amy smiled gratefully.

She slipped her right hand inside his jeans, under his boxer shorts. Mark sighed as Amy's hand set on his member, and she blushed furiously. But Amy did not break away. She gently pushed the clothes around it aside, so that Mark's iron-hard penis wouldn't make a mess of his boxers. Then she started tugging, rubbing him up and down with her right hand. Mark leaned back on the couch, sighing and staring up at the ceiling. He was clearly getting into it.

Thus encouraged, Amy began saying things to him, words of kindness and encouragement. She told Mark she loved him, that she really, really did want to be with him. She felt it as Mark's excitement grew, and then abruptly climaxed as he came on her right pants leg and wrist, sighing in a sound of true relaxation and enjoyment in the private, enclosed study.

"Oh, shit," Amy blushed, looking at- well, at what Mark's organ had gotten on her. This was so embarrassing. She probably hadn't even done it right. Amy started to apologize, but Mark just sat up and kissed her, looking quite silly with his jeans unzipped and his penis sitting out. Amy could hardly even believe it- she'd never, ever touched a boy there before. Not ever.

But Mark was kind, and thanked her, kissing her and telling her it was all right. Tucking himself back in his pants, Mark zipped back up and helped Amy clean up. Then, very nicely, he asked if Amy wanted a drink. For once, bewildered as she was, Amy did. Maybe a casual drink or two would further convince Mark that she was serious- that she didn't want to keep him from _all_ of his usual fun, just because of her principles. And so, for the last hour or so she was there at John LaFleur's house Friday night, Amy Philips drank a few glasses of vintage wine, calming her strained nerves and thanking herself, for once, that she had asked Lisa Doyle for help- and that Lisa had helped her at all.

**XX**

Mark, meanwhile, spent the remainder of the evening thinking about something very different. He had barely gotten over the shock of Amy willingly giving him a handjob on her own, and that she had willingly accepted a drink had shocked Mark even more. What had gotten into her tonight?

But nothing ever surprised Mark for very long. And as he passed the evening in a much more casual way than he usually did at these parties, Mark realised that Amy had clearly been doing some thinking of her own. Talking to friends. And she might've decided that in order to fully win Mark over, she couldn't just completely refuse to participate in any of the things the auburn-haired teen was used to doing. So she'd come to the party tonight, jerked Mark off (plenty satisfactorily, for someone so inexperienced), and now was having a glass or two of wine.

Mark was very pleased by all this, enough so that he even decided to spend the remainder of the evening with Amy, passing on getting laid for once. That, by itself, spoke volumes of what a good mood Mark was in. But as he passed the evening with Amy in Mr. LaFleur's study- eventually making a polite request for a second handjob, which he got- Mark began to think. He had absolutely no intention of taking "No" as an answer when he tried to get Amy to open her legs again, and tonight had only earned a reprieve.

The auburn-haired teen began to think. About Amy, about the wine she and him were sharing, and about what the fallback plan would be if she said no to him the next time. Then Mark thought of his favourite chemistry teacher, and the work-room and materials storage closet she had behind her classroom. There would be a lot of chemicals and ingredients to choose from, and Julie certainly trusted Mark enough to let him back there.

Mark looked at the glass of wine in his hand. He thought of the chemicals in the storage closet. He thought of the chance that next time, if she really was serious about this "not until marriage" business, Amy might just say no again. How there needed to be a backup plan for that.

And that gave Mark a brilliant idea.


End file.
